Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set Two

by Ford, P. F.

  ‘Aw, shite,’ said Goodnews, vehemently. She ran over to get a clear view of the meadow, but there was no sign of Jolly anywhere. ‘We’ve lost the bastard.’

  ‘He’s just an ordinary bloke, not a magician,’ said Slater, beginning to look around. ‘He can’t have vanished. There’s got to be a clue here somewhere.’

  He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he searched anyway, hoping he would know it when he saw it.

  On the far side of the rhododendron patch, there was what was left of an old wall. He walked over and took a closer look. Crumbling and fallen bricks were heaped all around, but over to one side he could see what was left of the corner of a building.

  ‘There used to be a house or something over here,’ he called. He scraped at the ground with his foot. Sure enough, just below the thin covering of soil and dead leaves he found what appeared to be a concrete floor.

  Goodnews made her way over to him.

  ‘It’s not much use to us now, though, is it?’ she said gloomily, surveying the site. ‘We need a real building, something he might be hiding in.’

  Slater continued to wander around the rubble that was all that was left of the ruined building. Over to one corner, some scrubby bushes had taken a hold and were managing to grow, albeit rather sparsely. Goodnews followed him.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked pointing into the scrubby bushes.

  ‘What’s what?’ He squinted, unable to see what she meant.

  ‘That pipe sticking out of the ground, amongst these bushes,’ she said.

  He came and stood next to her, and now he could see what she meant. Less than a yard away from where they stood, a pipe about the size of a rainwater drainpipe was sticking out of the ground. It stood about two feet tall, and on top was a box-like shape with a grill covering one side. He felt he should know what it was, but he couldn’t quite produce it from his memory.

  ‘I feel I should know what that is,’ he said.

  ‘It looks like it’s just a piece of old drainpipe,’ said Goodnews. ‘I wouldn’t strain your brain over it.’

  ‘No, not with a box like that on the end.’

  And then he realised what it was. He turned to Goodnews and put his finger to his lips.

  ‘Shh!’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you bloody shush me,’ she said indignantly. ‘Haven’t you pushed your luck far enough already?’

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her way from the pipe.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said, angrily. ‘Let go of my bloody arm. I’m not playing any more of your stupid courting couple games.’

  ‘Just stop complaining and listen.’

  ‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’ she snapped. ‘You seem to forget I’m the senior officer here, and I’ve just about had enough of you for one day-’

  ‘Will you keep your voice down? I think that’s an air vent. We could be stood on top of an underground building. If he’s down there he might be able to hear us, especially with you ranting away at the top of your voice.’

  Goodnews was still bristling with anger and it took a few seconds for his words to sink in. She looked dubiously at the vent pipe, and then back at Slater.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, quietly. ‘If this is another one of your stunts-’

  ‘Are you always so bloody touchy?’ he asked, angrily. ‘This is not a stunt. What happened earlier wasn’t a stunt. I don’t do bloody stunts.’

  She looked at him, clearly trying to decide if he was for real.

  ‘And I promise you,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice down, ‘I’m seriously regretting what I did at the railway station. I mean, come on, don’t you have a sense of humour? If I’d known you were going to keep on moaning about it all afternoon I’d have let the bloke see me standing there. At least if he’d done a runner you would have had something worth complaining about.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s a vent?’ she asked after a moment’s pause, much calmer now.

  ‘I can’t be completely sure,’ he said. ‘But didn’t Jane say something about an old farm with an air-raid shelter? There was obviously a building here once, perhaps the air-raid shelter was in the basement.’

  Goodnews didn’t seem convinced, so he continued.

  ‘He can’t have just vanished into thin air. He must have gone somewhere, right? So why not underground? Perhaps we’re stood right above him.’

  ‘What if he’s heard us?’

  ‘Then he’ll know we’re coming.’ Slater resisted the temptation to point out which one of them had been making all the noise. ‘But there’s not much we can do about that now, is there?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Assuming you’re right, and we can find the way in, we’ll play it as though he’s going to be expecting us. But I’m going to call for backup before we go down there.’

  ‘But what if I’m wrong?’ asked Slater. ‘You don’t want all the troops coming out here for nothing.’

  ‘They won’t be,’ she said, fishing her mobile phone from her pocket. ‘My gut’s telling me you’re right, and I always listen to my gut.’

  ‘You’ll be damned lucky if you get a signal out here.’

  She looked at the phone and from the look on her face, Slater knew he had been right.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re used to,’ he said, ‘but you’re out in the country now. There are lots of places like this once you get a few miles away from Tinton. You might just as well be in the middle of nowhere.’

  Goodnews looked at their surroundings.

  ‘We are in the middle of bloody nowhere, aren’t we?’ she said, bitterly. ‘How am I going to call for backup now?’

  ‘You could try going out into the meadow,’ he suggested. ‘Maybe all these trees are blocking the signal.’

  She took a few tentative steps towards the meadow, then hesitated and turned towards him.

  ‘What about the cows?’ she asked.

  ‘You’ll be alright,’ he muttered to himself. ‘In your current mood they’ll probably recognise you as one of their own.’

  ‘What was that?’ she asked.

  ‘I said you’ll be alright. It looks like they’re probably waiting to be taken in for milking,’ he said, this time loud enough for her to hear. ‘Anyway, they won’t hurt you. It’s the bulls you have to watch out for.’

  ‘If I step in cow shit, you’ll be cleaning my shoes,’ she warned him, as she turned towards the meadow.

  ‘Just look where you’re stepping, and it won’t happen. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can find the way in.’

  ‘If you find it, just wait,’ she said. ‘I don’t want any heroics. Just make sure he doesn’t escape. We’ll decide how we’re going to get in there when the troops arrive.’

  Norman saw Tim Jolly freeze, and he strained his ears. He thought he could hear people speaking, although it was hard to tell.

  ‘What’s up Tim?’ said Norman. ‘Is that voices you can hear? I told you they’d find us. Now what are you going to do?’

  He was tied to a chair, his legs secured to the front legs by coarse rope which had rubbed a raw red band around each ankle. His hands were secured behind him with the same rope which was so tight he could no longer feel them. As if that wasn’t enough to hold him, Jolly had then wrapped yards and yards of rope around his chest and the back of the chair.

  In different circumstances, Norman might have found it amusing to see someone trussed up like this, almost in cartoon fashion, but as he was the victim it was anything but amusing.

  ‘Shut up, lard arse,’ snapped Jolly. ‘I’m trying to think.’

  Norman was thinking too. He’d been thinking hard ever since he had walked into this trap. He didn’t have Jolly down as a jealous husband, and this kidnapping was completely out of character. He had been challenging Jolly about the supposed affair all along, asking him what evidence he had, and when he thought Jane and he actually had the time, or opportunity, to conduct an affair, but Tim Jolly had been adamant. His response to every question
Norman asked was that it didn’t matter what he said, he had to be punished.

  ‘You mean you don’t have an exit strategy?’ asked Norman. ‘I thought you were stupid when you said you thought me and Jane were having an affair, but now you’re saying you hadn’t considered what you would do if they found us? Jeez, now I know you’re way more stupid than I thought possible.’

  ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen,’ said Jolly, his voice tinged with panic. ‘He said they’d never find you in time.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Norman. ‘Who said they’d never find me in time?’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘D’you mean your friend Howes? He put all that crap into your head so you’d do this for him. Do you really think he cares what happens to you? I didn’t think you could have planned any of this. But now look at the mess you’re in. How are you ever going to explain this to Jane? She thinks the world of you, but what’s she going to think now?’

  ‘Just shut up,’ Jolly said again, his voice wild. ‘You’re supposed to be the prisoner. You don’t get to ask questions.’

  ‘You’re not made for this sort of stuff, are you?’ said Norman, ignoring the threat. ‘How the hell did you let yourself get involved with something like this?’

  ‘I’m sorry, alright?’ said Jolly. ‘But I had no choice. When someone threatens your kids, you don’t have a choice.’

  ‘But why didn’t you tell Jane, or me? We could have protected your kids. We could have protected all of you.’

  ‘It’s too late now,’ said Jolly. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’

  He headed off towards the back of the room. Norman had his back to that end of the room and couldn’t see what Jolly was doing.

  ‘Come on, Tim,’ he said. ‘It’s not too late. It’s never too late. Tell us what you know and we can stop him. We’ll pick up Jane and the kids. They’ll be safe. Tim? Tim? Are you there?’

  But there was no reply from Jolly, and as Norman strained to hear, he realised he couldn’t make out any sound from the back of the room. And then, suddenly, a knife was thrust between his wrists and the rope around his hands went slack.

  His feet were still tied to the chair, but at least Jolly had freed his wrists. He tried to flex his fingers, but his hands were so numb he couldn’t even feel them.

  Then he let out an involuntary gasp of pain as the blood vessels which had been starved of blood for so long began to ache with the sudden surge of blood flowing freely through them once again. Oh boy, now he could feel them…

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Slater watched Goodnews make her way gingerly through the trees. He winced as she grabbed the thin wire of the fence and pushed it down to swing a leg over it, but if it was electric, as he had expected, it must have been switched off. Then finally she was out in the open air of the meadow and he returned to the job of trying to find a way in to the basement.

  There was clearly no trap door set in the concrete floor here, so he figured wherever it was, it had to be hidden somewhere beneath the surrounding bushes. He began to work his way around the perimeter of the building. He reminded himself this was Tim Jolly they were looking for, not some master criminal. There had to be a clue here somewhere.

  Slater walked slowly and carefully, studying the ground as he went, and then suddenly the world seemed to cave in beneath his feet with a loud crack, and he was tumbling down a rickety wooden staircase.

  Out of control, he hurtled down the stairs, coming to a crashing halt against a wooden door. The breath had been knocked from him, his ears were ringing, and he’d suffered a painful blow just above his right eye, splitting the skin of his eyebrow. Blood seeped slowly from the wound and ran down into his eye. He lay still for a moment, trying to catch his breath and figure out what had just happened. He felt as though he’d had a severe battering, but the good news was he didn’t seem to have broken any bones.

  Out in the meadow, Goodnews had managed to find a feeble signal for her mobile phone, but it kept breaking up and she was struggling to make her call. She had eventually managed to reach the duty sergeant but whether he was actually able to understand what she was saying was debatable.

  It was her habit to pace up and down as she spoke on the phone, and she did exactly that as she was trying to communicate with the sergeant. Unfortunately, she took one or two steps too many and lost the signal completely and, of course, once she lost the signal it was gone for good.

  In the ensuing rage that engulfed her, she felt like throwing the phone away, but she knew that would be a stupid thing to do and would solve nothing.

  She had been keeping a wary eye on the cows at the far end of the meadow, but, as Slater had assured her, they seemed to be waiting to be taken in for milking and had shown little interest in her, or what she was doing. But then, as she glanced in their direction once more, there was a commotion amongst them and suddenly the figure of a man emerged and began to run towards her.

  She watched as the man approached, slowly growing larger as he ran. Then her apprehension turned to relief as she realised it was Steve Biddeford. Against all the odds, the cavalry had arrived.

  Whatever faults Biddeford might have, thought Goodnews, as she watched him approach, there was nothing wrong with his fitness and he cut an impressive figure as he raced across the rough ground. Even so, by the time he reached her he was panting hard, but then to be fair, he had just run the best part of 150 yards across some pretty rough ground.

  ‘How did you manage to find us?’ she said. ‘I’ve only just called in, and the signal’s crap.’

  ‘I know,’ gasped Biddeford, his hands on his knees as he fought to get his breath back. ‘I’ve been trying to call you for ages. In the end I thought I’d better make my way out here anyway.’

  ‘Are you on your own?’ she asked. ‘Is there no team coming out?’

  ‘I couldn’t get it authorised. I couldn’t get hold of you, and DCI Murray’s gone missing. I tried calling headquarters, but they didn’t want to know.’

  ‘Oh, bloody wonderful,’ said Goodnews. ‘So there’s just the three of us.’

  ‘That’s about how it usually works at Tinton,’ puffed Biddeford. ‘You sort of get used to it.’

  ‘We’ll see about that, when this is over,’ muttered Goodnews.

  She wasn’t impressed with the resources at her disposal, but they were just going to have to make do. They couldn’t mess about any longer.

  ‘We think we know where he’s holding Norman,’ she told Biddeford. ‘There’s some sort of basement under an old ruined building. DS Slater’s trying to find a way in-’

  She was interrupted by Biddeford pointing behind her. She turned just in time to see a man break cover about 50 yards away and began to run off across the meadow, heading away from them.

  ‘It’s Tim Jolly,’ said Goodnews. ‘Slater must have flushed him out. Quick, after him!’

  ‘I’m knackered already,’ said Biddeford, wearily. ‘Shouldn’t Dave be chasing him?’

  ‘I seem to recall you wanted to get off the computer and be the action man,’ she said. ‘Well, here’s your chance.’

  With a groan, Biddeford dragged himself upright and set off in pursuit.

  Goodnews watched the chase. It was a complete mismatch. Biddeford was the better part of a foot taller than Jolly, and his legs seemed to be much, much longer. He was also a good 15 years younger, and his superior fitness was obvious despite the fact he had already run across the meadow.

  It like watching a cheetah chasing down its prey, and it ended in similar fashion as Biddeford chased Jolly down, leapt onto his back, and brought him crashing to the ground.

  Satisfied Jolly was in safe hands, Goodnews turned her attention back in the direction of the old basement. She had expected Slater to appear by now, and she was wondering what had happened.

  She made her way back to where she had last seen him, in the centre of the ruin, and looked around. Where the hell had he gone?

  ‘DS Slater?�
�� she called.

  ‘Over here,’ said a groggy voice.

  She quickly made her way over to where the voice seemed to have come from. As she approached closer, she saw the hole in the ground, and the beginnings of a stairway.

  She peered over the edge. Down at the bottom, propped against what appeared to be a door, was Slater. He was lying on top of the pieces of the rotting board which had been the trapdoor he had stepped upon. He was holding his face, and blood was oozing from between his fingers.

  She started down the rickety stairs.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she called.

  ‘My head hurts, my ears are ringing, and I seem to be bleeding, but apart from that I’m wonderful,’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘You’ll have to do something about your sarcasm,’ she said, as she carefully negotiated the tumbledown staircase. ‘It’s not your most endearing characteristic.’

  She stooped down next to him. Despite the blood, she suspected it was more a case of wounded pride than physical injury.

  ‘I see you’ve been throwing yourself into the part again,’ she said, with a wicked grin. ‘Here, let me have a look at your eye.’

  Slater took his hands away from his bleeding eyebrow.

  ‘You’ll need a few stitches,’ said Goodnews, peering at the wound. ‘But I don’t think we’ll be needing to notify your next of kin this time. You’ll live.’

  ‘And you think I need to do something about my sarcasm,’ he said. ‘Here, help me get to my feet.’

  As she helped him struggle to his feet, the door behind them suddenly opened, and Slater heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Will you quit making all that noise? Some of us are trying to sleep in here.’

  They both swung round to see the dishevelled figure of Norman in the doorway. He had his hands raised, hanging on to each side of the doorframe.