by Ford, P. F.
Slater heard a rustling sound, and realised the Russian was going through his coat. His heart sank when he realised his mobile phone was in there.
‘I’ll take this, too,’ the Russian said. ‘You’ll find a key for the handcuffs on your bedside cabinet.’
Slater heard the front door open and then the Russian spoke one last time.
‘I hope you find your friend.’ Then he was gone, pulling the front door closed behind him.
Almost unable to believe he was still alive, Slater began to curse, loudly and violently. Hands secured behind his back, he turned slowly, and awkwardly, and began to bunny-hop his way across the room towards the stairs.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was surprisingly difficult to hop across the room, but motivated by all the different swear words he could think of to describe the man who had just got the better of him, Slater eventually reached the bottom of the stairs. Almost exhausted, and sweating profusely, he tried to hop up onto the first step, only to end up toppling backwards and landing in an uncomfortable heap on the floor.
It occurred to him that if he had asked for back-up when he had realised his car was on fire he wouldn’t be in this predicament. It was his own fault, and he slowly became aware that, as a result of his own stupidity, he could be trapped like this for hours before anyone missed him. This provoked another round of swearing, this time at his own incompetence.
After two or three minutes of futility, he finally pulled himself together. This was not the time to start panicking, or for wallowing in self-pity. If he was going to get out of this, he needed to think, and act, a lot more calmly.
Just breathe deeply, he told himself. You can do this. You just need to calm down and get it together, and then you can do this.
Where he had fallen, he was less than six feet from his front door, and as he lay there, recovering his energy and gathering his thoughts, he became aware of a sound outside. He probably wouldn’t have heard it normally, but at this time of the morning it was deathly quiet, and in the almost total silence he could hear someone creeping up the path towards his front door.
Oh, bloody hell, he thought, who the hell is this? One thing was for sure, if it was the Russian come back to finish him off, he was going to have to let himself in…
There was a gentle knock on the door.
Slater immediately thought it couldn’t be the Russian. He surely wasn’t the sort to knock, was he? Then he realised how absurd his own thoughts sounded.
There was another knock, this time a little louder, and seemingly a bit more insistent. A couple of seconds later he heard the rusty squeak of the flap of his letterbox as someone lifted it to peer inside.
‘Hello?’ hissed a familiar voice. ‘Hello? Are you there?’
‘Boss?’ called Slater. ‘Is that you?’
‘Are you alright?’ Goodnews’ voice came through the letterbox. ‘Can you let me in?’
‘I’m a bit tied up, right now,’ said Slater, almost crying with relief. ‘But just hang on a minute and I’ll see what I can do.’
It took an enormous amount of effort, but he finally managed to get to his feet and shuffle across to the door. Opening it with his hands behind his back proved rather challenging, but he was nothing if not determined, and eventually he heard the click of the latch.
Goodnews pushed gently at the door, but there was something in the way. It was Slater.
‘Are you going to let me in, or not?’ she asked.
‘Just hang on a minute,’ puffed Slater. ‘This isn’t easy, you know.’
Finally, the door swung slowly open to reveal Slater lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.
‘Oh God! Are you alright?’ she cried, as she rushed inside and knelt by him.
‘Why yes,’ he said, sarcastically. ‘I’ve never felt better.’
‘There’s no need to be bloody sarcastic,’ she said, testily. ‘I’ve come all the way out here in the middle of the night to see if you’re okay. The least you could do is show a bit of gratitude.’
‘I’m sorry. But you have to admit it’s a stupid question. I mean, you can see I’m trussed up like a chicken ready for the oven. Of course I’m not alright!’
‘If you keep on snapping at me, I’ll find some stuffing and put you in the bloody oven,’ she retorted. ‘You could be in the middle of some sordid sex game for all I know.’
‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ said Slater huffily, ‘but I tend to play those in the comfort of my bedroom, not on a bloody cold, hard, floor. And I never play them on my own.’
They glared at each other for a few seconds. It was Slater who spoke first.
‘Anyway, what are you doing here at four o’clock in the morning?’
‘Well, I can assure you I’m not here to make up the numbers for your sex game,’ said Goodnews, frostily. ‘I’m actually here because I asked the night shift duty sergeant to keep me informed if anything happened to any of my team. Especially if that someone was you.’
‘Oh,’ said a chastened Slater. ‘Why me?’
‘Because you and Norman are linked by Jones and Slick Tony,’ explained Goodnews. ‘If they’re after Norman, they could be after you too. Now, do you have a key for those handcuffs?’
‘I’m told it’s on my bedside cabinet,’ said Slater, wearily. ‘But I’m not holding my breath.’
‘You know where they are?’ said Goodnews, sounding surprised. ‘Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?’
Slater glared at her as she set off up the stairs.
‘Which room?’ she called.
‘On the left,’ said Slater, wearily. ‘You can’t get lost. There’s only two. Mine’s the one with a bed.’
To Slater’s immense relief, Goodnews reappeared moments later, brandishing the key. She set him free, then she helped him hobble across to his settee and sat him down. She quickly examined his wrists to make sure there were no cuts, but it wasn’t easy in the dim light.
‘Is there no better light in here?’ she asked him.
‘Bastard took the bulbs out.’
‘You sit there,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea.’
‘He pinched the bulb out of the kitchen too,’ Slater said, sadly.
‘Have you a spare?’
‘I’ll get it for you,’ he said and began to get to his feet.
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she ordered. ‘Just tell me where it is. I think I can manage to change a light bulb on my own.’
‘Of course you can. ‘I’m sorry. First drawer inside the door.’
He sank gratefully back into his seat and closed his eyes.
‘Right,’ said Goodnews, setting a cup of tea down next to him five minutes later. ‘I think you’d better tell me what’s been going on.’
Slater told her everything he could recall, from the point where he had awoken to find his car on fire to the point where he had heard her creeping up to his front door.
‘So you had a close encounter of the Russian kind,’ said Goodnews, grimly, when he had finished. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? Do we need to get you to hospital?’
‘The only thing that’s hurt is my pride,’ said Slater. ‘You don’t expect to get jumped in your own bloody home.’
‘Och, I wouldn’t feel too bad about that. I must admit I was only expecting to find a charred vehicle and a pissed off DS, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse.’
‘For sure,’ agreed Slater. ‘But if he’d wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be talking to you now. There was nothing I could have done to stop him.’
‘So, what do you think? Can we believe what he said?’
‘Well, I’m alive, aren’t I? And, as the man said, he waited until Norm went out before he set the fire. He also said he set off the fire alarm and called the fire service.’
‘We can check that easily enough,’ said Goodnews. ‘But you think he’s on the level, don’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ Slater said, finally. ‘I think he was sent to warn us o
ff, not to kidnap us, and certainly not to kill anyone. Like he said, they don’t need that sort of hassle with every policeman in Europe looking for them.’
‘Well, he’s gone the wrong way about that,’ said Goodnews. ‘We’ll be filing a report on this. Threatening police officers, endangering lives, using firearms. I tell you, no bastard is coming over here threatening my officers and getting away with it.’
There she goes again, thought Slater, looking out for her team.
‘Shouldn’t we be focusing on finding Norm?’ he asked.
‘Aye. And so we shall, but as soon as we find him I’m going to be looking for this Russian arsehole, and if I need to get Interpol combing Europe for him then I bloody will.’
Somehow, Slater didn’t doubt she meant what she said, and he wondered how much shite that might bring down upon them in the future.
‘Are you going to be alright if I get off now?’ she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You can have a couple of days off, if you need it.’
‘Not a chance,’ said Slater. ‘Norman’s been missing over 48 hours now. In that short time, we’ve found three suspects and then eliminated them all. Either we’ve been looking in completely the wrong direction, or we’re missing something very obvious. I’ll be in at seven, as usual.’
‘That’s two hours from now,’ said Goodnews, glancing at her watch. ‘I’ll understand if you need a bit longer to catch up on your beauty sleep.’
‘Beauty sleep never seemed to work for me. I gave up worrying about that years ago,’ Slater said, smiling. ‘I’ll be there at seven.’
‘Okay, if you’re sure,’ she said, getting to her feet and gathering up her things. ‘I’ll get off.’
‘Look, Boss.’ Slater climbed gingerly to his feet. ‘It sounds inadequate, yet again, but thank you for looking out for me. I could have been stuck here for hours if you hadn’t come out here.’
‘No problem,’ she said, as she opened the front door to let herself out. ‘You would have done the same for me.’
As the door closed behind her, he felt somewhat embarrassed, and wondered if he would have had the forethought to be kept informed the way she had. Well, it was a lesson learnt. He would certainly aim to think like that in future.
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘Witness Protection are very confident Jones is not involved,’ Goodnews told Slater later that morning. ‘They say his every move is monitored and has been for over three months. Since he decided to spill the beans on all his partners in crime, he’s been in solitary confinement for his own protection.’
‘What about visitors?’ asked Slater. ‘Maybe someone’s been fetching and carrying for him.’
‘No way. They tell me he has no friends, and none of his guards has any time for him. He also doesn’t have access to a phone. It will stay this way until after he gives evidence at trial, then he’ll disappear.’
‘How come they’re so sure he’s not involved?’ asked Slater. ‘He must have plenty of contacts.’
‘Apparently he’s damaged goods,’ said Goodnews. ‘At the end of the day, bent or not, he’s a copper in prison. You don’t need me to tell you how pleasant his life would be inside. They reckon that’s what turned him in the end. Apparently he doesn’t like prison one little bit, and he has no desire to go back there.’
‘People like him don’t change,’ muttered Slater.
‘This one might,’ said Goodnews, with a wry smile. ‘He wasn’t popular before, but once he gives evidence he becomes a marked man. There will be a whole army of people looking for him, and he’s been assured that, should he ever step out of line, his identity will become public knowledge. Accidentally, of course.’
Slater thought about this news for a minute or two.
‘Frankly, I couldn’t give a toss about Jones, or what happens to him,’ said Slater. ‘But he’s definitely off our suspect list now, as is Mrs Norman’s new boyfriend. The phone records prove he’s been sending the occasional text message and the odd phone call, but he already admitted that. We’ve got no reason to doubt him, that I can see.’
‘What’s the score with forensics?’ asked Goodnews.
‘There are none of Norm’s prints on the telephone directory.’
‘So someone was trying to put us off the scent.’
‘Slick Tony would be aware of the Jones connection,’ said Slater.
‘But we’re convinced he’s not involved in the kidnapping,’ said Goodnews. ‘So we’re getting nowhere fast. We need something concrete and so far we’ve got nothing. Did forensics find anything else that might help in the phone box?’
‘It’s what they didn’t find that’s quite interesting. Although I’m not sure it helps us much.’
‘What’s that?’
‘No fingerprints,’ said Slater. ‘It’s a public call box, so you would expect it to be plastered in prints, and yet they found none at all. Someone had wiped the whole thing clean.’
‘Presumably that would have been the person who left the fake clue in the telephone directory,’ said Goodnews. ‘Very thorough.’
‘But, maybe, just a bit too thorough,’ said Slater.
‘How come?’ asked Goodnews.
‘Well, wouldn’t a professional have been wearing gloves?’ asked Slater. ‘Wouldn’t a professional know it would be harder for us if the place is covered in hundreds of prints?’
‘So now you think our kidnapper is an amateur?’
‘To me, it’s becoming the only thing that makes sense,’ said Slater. ‘Look at that botched attempt at framing me. And surely wiping the phone box down is a mistake.’
‘I agree we were looking in the wrong direction before. But I’m not so sure this person is a complete amateur. Don’t forget, whoever it is has been way ahead of us so far.’
Slater couldn’t argue with that.
‘Well, if it’s not Jones,’ he said, ‘it has to be someone who knows about Norm and Jones.’
They continued to mull over the possibilities for another two hours, but they made little progress. They had done this exercise right at the start and come up with three names, and it was no different this time, except they now knew it wasn’t one of those three names. It seemed impossible, though, to imagine another suspect who would have the background knowledge to point the finger at Jones.
It was ten o’clock. Goodnews had been working since just after six this morning, and Slater since six-thirty. They had the team working their way through every statement and every inch of CCTV footage they had. Since seven, Steve Biddeford had been going back through everything they had gathered about Norman’s past. So far, they had come up with precisely nothing.
‘We’re going round in circles,’ said Goodnews, eventually. ‘I think it’s time we took a break. Maybe fresh heads will give us some fresh ideas.’
Everyone had gone off for their break except Goodnews and Slater, who had chosen to stay at his desk studying CCTV footage.
‘I have to stretch my legs,’ she told him as she headed for the door. ‘I’ll bring the coffees back with me.’
In the now silent room, Slater eased back his chair, stretched and yawned expansively.
‘If that yawn gets any bigger your head will turn inside out,’ said a familiar voice behind him.
He turned to see the slightly dumpy figure of PC Jane Jolly.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t Jolly Jane,’ he said, genuinely pleased to see her. ‘I thought you were away soaking up the sun.’
‘No, not me,’ she said. ‘It’s Tim who’s away. He flew out on Sunday. It’s his reward for having to look after the kids so often on his own when I’m working. He gets to join his mates and follow England to a football tournament in Spain, and I get two weeks with the kids.’
‘If he’s only there until England get knocked out, he’ll probably be back before the week’s out,’ Slater said, grinning.
‘If that happens he gets to
stay and relax for the rest of the fortnight,’ she explained, flashing one of her fabulous smiles.
Jolly was renowned for her beautiful smile and general good humour. She was one of those people who could lift a whole room of gloomy people with just a single smile.
‘I need to marry a woman like you, if it means I still get to be free,’ said Slater.
‘You couldn’t handle someone like me. And there are still rules involved with that freedom.’
Slater knew that Jolly and her husband Tim had been childhood sweethearts who had married young and stayed the course. Their twenty-year marriage was believed to be the secret behind Jolly’s good nature.
‘I heard about Norm,’ she said. ‘I wondered if there was anything I could do.’
As a regular member of their team, Jolly often worked with Norman and had become good friends with him. Slater knew she was probably the one person who might be closer to Norman than he was.
‘We could certainly do with some help,’ said Slater. ‘It’s been two days now, but it’s knowledge we’re lacking, not people. So, unless you know something we don’t know, I don’t think there is much you can do. I’m sorry.’
‘I’ve been racking my brain,’ she said. ‘The only thing I can think of is the phone calls and texts he’s been getting, but you knew about that too. I’m sure that would have been the first thing you thought of.’
‘They were from his wife’s new boyfriend. Did Norm tell you she’d shacked up with this guy?’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He never really spoke about her. Thinking back, he’s never really told me anything about his past. Our conversations tend to be all about work, or he’s cracking those terrible jokes of his.’
‘Yeah. That’s exactly what I realised when I thought about it. He’s never really told me anything about himself apart from how he fell foul of the Serious Crime Unit and ended up in Northumberland. And I think he only told me about that because it was something we had in common.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Jolly. ‘The infamous DI Jones. He’s talked about that, but even then it was a bit sketchy.’
