Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set Two

by Ford, P. F.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Whoever used my car knew Norm was going to be passing the old telephone box, and as they were giving him instructions, they could have told him he had to go in there.’

  ‘Why would they tell him to go inside?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘My guess is maybe he had to collect something from inside,’ said Slater. ‘Perhaps there were more instructions.’

  ‘That’s a bit risky. It would almost be inviting him to leave a clue.’

  ‘Don’t forget this is the person who tried to set me up,’ Slater reminded her. ‘So we know they’re not always super professional.’

  ‘I have to admit I’m not convinced,’ said Goodnews, sceptically. ‘But carry on, don’t let me stop your train of thought.’

  ‘I was only going to say perhaps we shouldn’t write off both clues,’ he said. ‘Maybe one of the clues is genuine, left by Norman, and the other one is fake, left by the kidnapper.’

  Goodnews turned and stared at him for a few moments.

  ‘I think maybe you watch too many TV shows,’ she said, turning back to face the front.

  ‘I know it sounds unlikely,’ countered Slater. ‘But I don’t hear you coming up with any better ideas.’

  ‘Okay,’ Goodnews said, sighing. It may be unlikely, but at least Slater had a theory. ‘For the moment I’ll go along with this unlikely theory of yours. So how do we know which is the real clue and which is the fake?’

  ‘I don’t have all the answers,’ he protested.

  ‘Well, you should have,’ Goodnews said, teasingly. ‘It’s your theory.’

  ‘If you’re going to push me, I think I’d lean towards the drawing,’ said Slater. ‘And if Becks can’t find any of Norm’s fingerprints on the directory we’ll know I’m right. Hopefully there’s a report waiting for us when we get back.’

  ‘Steve Biddeford should have identified all those phone numbers from Norman’s phone records by the time we get back,’ said Goodnews. ‘Let’s see if Howes owns one of those phones.’

  ‘It’ll back up his story if he does. Although I think he’s in the clear anyway.’

  ‘Aye. We keep coming back to the same two suspects. We’ll see if Biddeford has managed to track down Jones when we get back.’

  They drove on in silence for a few minutes before Goodnews spoke again.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘there is another possibility.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Suppose the Jones clues are a red herring?’

  ‘Then we’re left with Slick Tony,’ said Slater.

  ‘But you said yourself it doesn’t add up, if it was just a warning. What if you’re right?’

  ‘That would mean we’ve been barking up the wrong tree all along,’ said Slater, grimly.

  Before she could reply, her phone began to ring.

  ‘Goodnews,’ she said, leaving Slater to his thoughts.

  She listened for a few moments, her face darkening.

  ‘Right. Okay,’ she said finally. ‘No, no. If the buggers insist it has to be me they talk to, there’s not much you can do, is there? Don’t worry I’ll sort it. And go home. You need to sleep.’

  She ended the call and put the phone back in her pocket.

  ‘Bloody Witness Protection,’ she said. ‘They admit they’ve got Jones but they won’t tell Steve Biddeford any more than that because he doesn’t have the right security credentials. They’ll only speak to me.’

  ‘Ah, security credentials.’ Slater grinned. ‘Where would we be without them?’

  ‘It’s bloody daft,’ she said. ‘They won’t tell Biddeford, who’s part of my team and acting on my behalf, but they will tell me.’

  ‘Isn’t it supposed to be on a “need to know” basis?’ asked Slater.

  ‘We do need to bloody know,’ she said. ‘And we need to know now.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Slater looked at the luminous hands of his alarm clock. It was 2am. He was sure he’d been asleep for no more than five minutes. But why was he awake? He had no idea what had woken him, and he lay there trying to figure out what it was. Suddenly it struck him – for 2am, it wasn’t really that dark at all.

  He fumbled for his alarm clock and held it up to check again. Yep, it was 2 am. It should be pitch black, and yet there seemed to be a sort of glow coming from outside the window. Admittedly his curtains weren’t all that thick, but even so. And there was a noise as well. A sort of dull roaring, almost a whooshing noise, with the odd crackle, and…

  With a start, he sat up. It was a fire. He could hear a fire, and it was outside his house. He rushed from his bed and pulled the curtains open. It took a few seconds for him to realise exactly what he was looking at. His car was ablaze, flames shooting from the windows.

  He grabbed his mobile phone and dialled 999. As he stood at the window, speaking into his phone and helplessly watching his car burn, he became aware of a figure standing under a lamppost about 50 yards down the road. He appeared to be watching Slater’s windows, and was smoking a cigarette. As Slater watched, the man threw down his cigarette butt, ground it with his heel, and then walked off down the road.

  ‘We’ll have to stop meeting like this, people will start to talk,’ said Eddie Brent, the fire crew manager, to Slater.

  ‘At least this time no one’s missing,’ said Slater, grimly, as he surveyed the still steaming, charred wreck that had been his car.

  ‘Have you found him yet?’ asked Brent.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Is this linked?’

  ‘Do cars spontaneously catch fire?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Not normally, no,’ said Brent. ‘Most car fires these days are a result of arson, although it’s not unheard of for a car to catch fire on its own. But a fire like that usually starts in the engine compartment.’

  Slater looked at what was left of his car again.

  ‘I’m no expert,’ he said, ‘but I think you’re telling me this was arson, right?’

  ‘It looks as though someone poured petrol all over your car, and inside it, and then set fire to it,’ explained Brent. ‘I’m assuming you didn’t leave it unlocked?’

  ‘It was locked,’ said Slater. ‘But that doesn’t seem to mean anything with this bloody car.’

  Brent gave him a quizzical look.

  ‘Someone went for a drive in it the other night.’

  ‘Well, maybe that’s who set fire to it,’ said Brent, with an air of satisfaction.

  He acknowledged a signal from his crew who had packed their gear away and were ready to leave.

  ‘There’s nothing else we can do here now,’ he said. ‘We need to get going, but I’ll send you my report.’

  ‘Yeah, right, thanks,’ said Slater, with a grim smile. ‘Let’s hope this doesn’t become a regular thing.’

  He watched and waved off the fire crew. What he really needed was a torch so he could have good look around where he had seen the figure watching his car burn. However, his torch had been in his car, so that was out of the question. He was going to have to wait until morning. Frustrated, he turned to walk back up the path to his house.

  It was dark inside his house as he wearily pushed open his front door. All he could think about was collapsing back into his bed, and it barely registered with him that his house was completely dark. Automatically, as he pushed his way inside, he reached for the light switch. Nothing happened. Sod it, he thought, the bulb must have blown.

  His was only a tiny house, so it was only a couple of steps to the kitchen. He tried the light switch just inside the kitchen door, but again, nothing happened. It occurred to him that maybe the power was off, but then he immediately realised it couldn’t be that because the neon clock on the cooker was working.

  This is bloody odd, he thought.

  He dropped his jacket by the kitchen door and walked across his narrow lounge, feeling his way in the dark. There was a standard lamp in the corner, maybe th
at would work. He reached under the shade and clicked the switch. This time it worked and the room filled with dim light.

  ‘Ah, at last,’ said a heavily accented voice behind him. ‘I was beginning to think you were going to stay out there all night.’

  Slater froze, still facing the corner of the room.

  ‘Please turn around,’ said the voice. ‘I need to see your face. But hold your hands up, and don’t try anything clever. I have a gun pointing at you, and much as I would prefer not to use it, I will if I must.’

  Slater gulped hard. Was this the Russian? Slowly he turned around. The man was sitting in the only armchair, looking totally relaxed, despite the pistol held in his right hand pointing straight at Slater’s chest.

  At the sight of the gun, Slater felt his insides turn icy cold. He was no coward, and would stand his ground against almost anyone in a fist fight, but he had a healthy fear of guns and what they could do.

  ‘Oh dear. You look a little fearful,’ said the Russian, with a cold smile. ‘But that is understandable. I expect, working out in the country here, you don’t have to face a man with a gun very often. But don’t worry. I am not one of these idiots who gets a gun and doesn’t know how to use it. I can assure you I am a professional, and I know exactly what I am doing.

  ‘Anyway, fear is a very healthy thing. If you fear the gun, you are more likely to behave yourself, and if you behave yourself you will not get hurt.’

  ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ Slater had to try hard to keep his fear in check.

  ‘I understand, as a policeman, you are used to asking questions,’ said the Russian. ‘But on this occasion you will keep quiet unless I ask you to speak.’

  Like a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights, Slater was becoming mesmerised by the hole at the end of the gun barrel, which seemed to be getting bigger and bigger the more he stared at it. When the Russian suddenly waved it to indicate he should sit on the settee, his stomach lurched violently and his heart seemed to miss several beats.

  ‘Please sit down Mr Slater, and try to relax,’ said the Russian, sounding quite reasonable. ‘Believe me, if I had come here to shoot you, I would have done so by now. Lucky for you, on this occasion I am not here as an assassin, but as a messenger. I have been sent to deliver a message to you and to your friend Mr Norman.’

  ‘What have you done with him?’ asked Slater, as he slowly, and carefully, lowered himself onto the settee.

  The Russian looked puzzled.

  ‘What have I done with him?’ repeated the Russian. ‘Do you mean Mr Norman? I have done nothing with him. I only set fire to his house.’

  Despite his heavy accent, the Russian spoke perfect English, which was delivered slowly and deliberately – and Slater could understand every word.

  ‘What do you mean, “I only set fire to his house”?’ asked Slater, who despite his fear of the gun, was irritated by the man’s casual attitude. ‘You could have bloody killed him. And what about all the other people who live in that block of flats?’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said the Russian, shaking his head. ‘Make no mistake. If I had wanted to kill Mr Norman, I would have shot him, and he would be dead. If I had wanted to hurt him, I would have started the fire while he was at home. And, if I had wanted to hurt other people, I would not have set off the fire alarm and called the fire service. I was very careful.’

  Slater thought about this. Could he really believe this man when he said he hadn’t wanted to kill Norman? But then, hadn’t Goodnews suggested as much?

  ‘So where’s Norman now?’ he demanded.

  Just for a moment, the Russian looked perplexed.

  ‘I have not seen him since the night I burnt his flat,’ he said. ‘Is he missing?’

  ‘You know bloody well he’s missing,’ Slater said, accusingly. ‘What have you done with him?’

  ‘This would explain why I have not seen him,’ said the Russian, ignoring Slater’s demands. ‘When did he go missing?’

  ‘Don’t play games. You know when.’

  ‘Why would I lie to you?’

  Slater studied the Russian’s face. He had a point. There was absolutely no sensible reason for him to tell lies when he had that bloody gun in his hand.

  ‘How do I know I can trust what you say?’ he asked.

  ‘You don’t,’ said the Russian. ‘But ask yourself, why would I kidnap him? As I said, I am merely a messenger. We just want you to leave us alone. Kidnapping, or killing, either one of you is not going to help us achieve that. It would just make matters worse. At the moment we have two small-time policemen, who are a long way away, to deal with. It’s an annoying irritation, but that is all. If we hurt you, we will have every policeman in Europe looking for us. Our minor irritation would become a major problem. Do you really think we are that stupid?’

  ‘What about the people at Interpol?’ asked Slater. ‘Aren’t they looking for you on our behalf?’

  ‘I believe the expression is “to pay lip service”.’ The Russian smiled, coldly. ‘Do you really think they want to help two English detectives on a wild goose chase?’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Slater. ‘You’ve paid them off.’

  Now the Russian’s smile became much bigger.

  ‘We pay insurance like any business, just to be sure,’ he said. ‘But they really don’t care to help the English anyway.’

  This was news Slater wasn’t really surprised to hear.

  ‘So why did you set fire to my car?’ he asked. ‘That was another warning, was it? Am I supposed to be grateful you torched my car and not my house?’

  ‘Ah yes.’ The Russian smiled and nodded his head. ‘I confess. I did burn your car. But, I would suggest maybe that was not such a bad thing. I think you will agree when I say it was time for a new one.’

  ‘But why bother?’

  ‘I needed to make sure to get your attention,’ said the Russian.

  ‘Having that friggin’ cannon pointed at me is doing quite a good job of getting my attention, trust me,’ said Slater.

  ‘And now I have your attention I will deliver the message and then I will leave. And if you and Mr Norman do as I ask, I won’t have to come back.’

  ‘So why not just tell Norm, like you’re telling me?’ asked Slater. ‘He’s the one who’s been chasing you through Interpol, not me.’

  ‘Is he really missing?’ asked the Russian.

  ‘Yes, he really is.’

  The Russian tutted, and sighed his disapproval, as if Slater had just told him he’d misplaced his car keys.

  ‘What is the matter with you people?’ he said. ‘I take my eye off him for one night, and this happens.’

  ‘What do you mean, “I take my eye off him for one night”?’ asked Slater. ‘How long have you been watching him?’

  ‘Six weeks. Six weeks waiting for him to leave his flat and give me the right opportunity to burn it. I admit I could have done it the night he was with you, and maybe in hindsight that was a mistake. But I am thinking he really needs to get out more. Spending every night at home on his own is not good. But then, on the one night he goes out alone, he goes missing.’

  ‘You waited for him to go out so you could burn his flat down?’ asked Slater.

  ‘I couldn’t burn it with him inside, could I? He might have been hurt. I already told you that was not my intention. I would have followed him when he went out, but I was busy. Now I wish I had followed him, perhaps I could have kept him safe.’

  ‘Don’t try to pretend you’re some sort of guardian angel. You were busy burning his flat.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the Russian. ‘But now you think I have something to do with his disappearance. This was not supposed to happen.’

  The Russian looked at his wristwatch.

  ‘Oh dear, look at the time,’ he said, pleasantly. ‘I really would love to stay and talk, but time is getting on and I have things to do.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Slater, sounding much more brave than he actually felt. ‘H
ouses to burn, people to terrify. It must keep you very busy.’

  ‘But you are not terrified of me,’ said the Russian.

  ‘No,’ agreed Slater. ‘I’m not afraid of you. But I have a very healthy respect for that thing in your hand.’

  The Russian smiled and nodded his head.

  ‘Then it serves its purpose,’ he said.

  He fumbled in his jacket pocket and produced a pair of handcuffs, which he tossed across to Slater.

  ‘Put these around your ankles,’ he ordered. ‘And no funny stuff. I don’t want to have to show you how accurate my aim is.’

  Reluctantly, Slater did as he was told.

  ‘Now stand up, turn around, and put your hands behind your back. My message is simple,’ he said to the back of Slater’s head as he cuffed Slater’s wrists. ‘You are to call off your Interpol search and stop making trouble for my boss. I think you know him as Slick Tony. If you do this, no one will get hurt and we can all get on with our lives. I think the expression is “happily ever after”. Maybe you will even get to see your lady friend, Jelena, again.’

  Slater stiffened at the mention of Jelena.

  ‘What?’ the Russian asked. ‘Did you think she was dead? Oh no, my friend. Unlike Mr Norman, who’s disappearance I know nothing about, Jelena was kidnapped by us. I promise you she is very much alive and she would love to be back here in your quaint little English town.’

  ‘How do I know any of this is true?’ Slater was very aware of the proximity of the gun to his spine.

  ‘You don’t,’ said the Russian, smiling. ‘And I can’t make you believe me if you don’t want to. But, you should ask yourself if you can afford not to believe me. There again, you could just wait and see.’

  Slater felt the Russian release his grip and heard him back away. He was still facing the wall, and had no intention of turning around to see the gun again.

  ‘It has been nice meeting you, Mr Slater,’ he said. ‘But I hope you will make sure I don’t have to come and see you again, because next time it will not be such a cordial occasion. Don’t waste your time trying to use your telephone to call for help – I made sure it’s not working.’