by Ford, P. F.
‘That looks just like Ruth!’ he cried. ‘But she never wears make-up, or dresses like that.’
‘I don’t know how to tell you this, Mr Warwick,’ said Norman, ‘But that is Ruth. Or at least, that’s Ruth as her other self. When she was up in London, she called herself Ruby Rider. She was a high-class hooker. Mark Clinton was one of her clients.’
‘No. You must be mistaken. Ruth wasn’t like that. She wasn’t a hooker. And he was a pest, not a client. You’ve got this all wrong.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Warwick, but we even have a video Ruby made of her and Clinton together. We believe that she, along with an accomplice, intended to blackmail Mark Clinton.’
‘No,’ insisted Warwick. ‘You’re making this up.’
‘Now why would we do that, Tony?’ said Slater. ‘We can show you the video if you don’t believe us.’
‘You disgust me,’ said Warwick. ‘You come in here making accusations about Ruth leading some sort of double life, and now you want to show me some cheap pornography. How dare you!’
‘Well, there’s a possible scenario I have to consider, Tony, and it’s why we’re here right now asking you these questions. Let’s suppose you knew what Ruth was doing. Let’s suppose you knew she was Ruby Rider. Let’s suppose it was your idea to make the video of her and Clinton, and blackmail him. And then, let’s suppose you watched the video and you got jealous, and having got jealous you decided you had to stop her, so you killed her.’
‘I told you I knew nothing about any of that. I just wrote the letter to stop him calling her.’ He was crying now, and in Slater’s heart he knew whatever Tony Warwick might be, he wasn’t their killer.
‘This case is beginning to drive me mad,’ said Norman gloomily, back at Dave Slater’s house. ‘How many more red herrings are we going to find? Every time we find a likely suspect, or line of enquiry, it turns out to lead up a blind alley.’
‘We still don’t have a crime, don’t forget,’ Slater said, sighing. ‘I thought we might be onto something with Warwick, but all we have is speculation and suspicion. We can’t even prove he was trying to blackmail Clinton without the letter.’
He looked morosely into his empty teacup.
‘But we get paid for wading through all this crap to find the truth, so I suppose it’s no good getting downbeat about it.’
He made a conscious decision that he’d had enough doom and gloom for now. It was time to be a bit more positive, time to move forward.
‘Well, you’ve heard about our crappy day, Steve,’ he said to Biddeford. ‘Now it’s your turn. What did you learn about Clinton?’
Biddeford dragged a notebook from his pocket and thumbed through to the relevant pages.
‘Nothing of any great note so far,’ he began. ‘Basically he’s a high flyer with the SCU, heading for great things. Like I said, there doesn’t seem to be anything dark in his past. Although, reading between the lines, it seems to me he’s made his way up the ladder by using other people to step on.’
‘That’s for sure,’ agreed Norman.
‘He seems almost untouchable,’ added Biddeford. ‘It’s like he has a charmed life and everybody loves him.’
He looked up at them, and Slater knew he was unsure if he had done a good job or not.
‘More like he’s got something on everybody so they have to love him,’ corrected Norman.
‘I tell you what I have found,’ said Biddeford. ‘And maybe it’s one of the reasons he’s untouchable. He knows a lot of people within the legal system. He’s even related to some fancy barrister who has connections in very high places. He married her sister. Now what’s her name?’ He looked through his notes again.
‘Ah! Here it is,’ he said. ‘Her name’s Jenny Radstock. She’s his sister-in-law, and her family are friends with the home secretary, no less.’
Slater sucked in a breath, making a loud hissing sound. Both Norman and Biddeford turned to look at him, and Slater felt his face redden.
‘Well, well,’ said Norman. ‘I get the feeling there’s something here we should all know, but right now only you know. So come on, do tell. What’s the thing with Jenny Radstock?’
‘This is a bit embarrassing,’ Slater began, looking guiltily at Norman. ‘Jenny Radstock is the barrister who latched onto Beverley Green’s complaint about the original investigation and took it up with the local MP and the home secretary. She came to see me when I was first given the case. She’s the one who persuaded me to take it on.’
‘Is that it?’ asked Norman.
‘I didn’t know she had a connection with Mark Clinton. I didn’t even know Mark Clinton was involved back then,’ pleaded Slater.
‘And have you spoken to her since?’ asked Norman.
‘Only to tell her I’d got started.’
‘And do you plan to speak to her again?’
‘Well, she’s asked me to keep her informed, but so far I haven’t.’
He was feeling distinctly uncomfortable now as the implications began to jump into his head. He looked anxiously at Norman.
‘Shit, Norm,’ he said. ‘What the hell’s going on here? What have we got into?’
‘Whoa! Just hold on now,’ said Norman soothingly, ‘We don’t know if this changes anything yet, do we? I can see three possible scenarios. One, it’s just a coincidence. Two, she’s trying to help Clinton save his arse. Or three, she wants to bury Clinton and she’s using to you to do it. Of course, there could be a fourth option, although I haven’t got a bloody clue what that might be. But with this case nothing would surprise me.’
‘But I should have known,’ said Slater.
‘How could you have known?’ said Norman. ‘Clinton wasn’t even on the field of play when you started.’
‘So how do we figure out what she’s up to?’ asked Slater.
‘If she really is covering up the cover-up, you need to play along for now. Maybe it’s time you met up with her and gave her an update,’ suggested Norman. ‘We’ll just have to edit the news a bit and tone some of it down, that’s all. We’ll make sure you tell her enough, without telling her much, if you see what I mean.’
‘But what if Beverley Green’s already told her what we know?’ said Slater, unhappily.
‘Even if that has happened,’ said Norman, clearly trying to keep Slater calm, ‘She’s still way behind where we are now, right?’
‘I suppose so,’ agreed Slater unhappily.
‘But there’s an upside to that scenario too. If she knows about Ruth being Ruby, she’s not passing that information on to Clinton. If he had known he would have been better prepared for us, don’t you think?’
He looked at his watch.
‘Good lord, is that the time? No wonder my stomach’s rumbling. It’s dinner time. How about a takeaway while we work out what you’re going to report to Miss Radstock?’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Oh my God! What happened to you?’ Jenny Radstock looked shocked at the sight of Slater’s arm, heavily bandaged and supported by a sling. She stepped back to let Slater into her house.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said.
‘Err, yes. I had a bit of an accident. I’m sorry I’ve not called sooner, but it’s rather slowed things down,’ said Slater, stretching the truth to fit the scenario he had dreamed up with Norman and Biddeford.
They had decided it wouldn’t be wise to tell her everything they knew because it was just possible she was planning to feed this information back to Clinton. Then again, they had to make sure he gave her enough information to satisfy her curiosity. It was Norman who had come up with the bright idea of exaggerating the situation with Slater’s damaged wrist and using that as an excuse.
In reality, the lightweight cast he wore barely interfered with his activities and certainly didn’t stop him working. However, for the sake of the story Norman had sent Biddeford into town to buy bandages and a sling. The addition of those bandages and the supporting sling made it almost impossible for him
to do anything with the offending arm. It would be easy for anyone who didn’t know the truth to assume he would find it a struggle to do most things at the moment.
From the way she was dressed, Jenny had obviously anticipated an opportunity to satisfy some of her curiosity about Slater during the course of the evening. Her short silk kimono showed off her long legs to great effect, and the front was open just far enough to show tantalising glimpses of what was inside every time she moved. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the expression on her face when she saw his arm was more an expression of disappointment than one of concern.
She led him through to a sumptuous lounge. The pile on the carpet was so deep he was surprised he could still see his feet when he looked down.
‘Sit down,’ she said, waving across at a two-seater settee while she busied herself at a small bar in one corner. ‘Gin and tonic?’
‘Please,’ he said as he sank down onto the settee.
‘So,’ she asked solicitously, ‘What happened?’
‘Accident,’ he explained. ‘Silly really. I slipped and fell. It’s made life pretty difficult and certainly slowed me down a lot.’
She walked across and handed him his drink, then she walked back across the room and curled into the armchair opposite him, drawing her long, slender legs up underneath her. She moved slowly and sensuously. She reminded Slater of a cat, and right now he felt a bit like the mouse who was about to be devoured.
‘Now, tell me how you’re getting on.’
So he told her about his meetings with Beverley Green and Tony Warwick, and then about his visit to The Magazine, carefully omitting anything of any great importance.
‘So you haven’t really got far at all?’ she said finally.
‘I’m afraid not, no. I lost a couple of days when I had my accident, so it’s taken a lot longer than I would have hoped.’
‘How incapacitated are you?’ she asked.
‘Oh I can do most things,’ he said, wondering what she really meant. ‘I just have to be a bit careful not to bang it against anything or put any weight on it.’
‘And I suppose you have to make sure you don’t get it all wet.’
‘Err, yes, that’s right,’ he said, beginning to see where this was going.
‘Are you up to doing a little job for me?’ she asked.
‘Err, what sort of job?’ he said suspiciously.
‘Something I can’t manage,’ she said teasingly, sipping at her drink. ‘But I’m sure you’ll make a good job of it. It’s upstairs in the bathroom.’
Ah! Now he could see where this was going.
‘Mustn’t get my arm wet,’ he reminded her.
‘Oh, I’m sure you can manage just fine with the one hand.’ She smiled at him.
Now Dave Slater wasn’t averse to an encounter of this sort with an attractive woman, and Jenny Radstock was a very attractive woman. Indeed, five years ago he’d have seen this as a great offer, and he’d have been in there like a rat up a drainpipe, but over the last couple of years he’d begun to tire of such things. He was beginning to realise that what he really wanted was a proper, meaningful relationship, not this easy come, easy go, sort of thing.
He was considering how he was going to play the situation and what to do next when she decided it for him.
‘So,’ she said, easing her legs from beneath her and stretching them forward so the kimono rode upwards. ‘How about if I go up and run the bath while you finish your drink? Then perhaps you could come up and scrub my back.’
‘Perhaps I will,’ smiled Slater reluctantly, knowing that he wouldn’t.
‘Do I frighten you, Sergeant Dave?’ she asked, picking up on his reluctance.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Perhaps you don’t find me attractive.’
‘I think you’re very attractive,’ he answered diplomatically. ‘And you know you are.’
She sighed.
‘But I get the feeling you’re not very keen,’ she said.
‘I’m just not sure it would help our working relationship.’
‘Oh, I can assure you that wouldn’t be a problem,’ she said. ‘Or at least it never has been before. I know how to keep work and fun separate. But, of course, if you can’t handle it…’
She left the sentence unfinished and looked meaningfully at him, confident in her ability to seduce. Then slowly she rose from her chair, the kimono falling open just long enough to reveal a lack of underwear that proved she was a true redhead.
‘Oops! Clumsy me,’ she said, biting her lip as she hastily pulled it back together. ‘Well, I’m going up for a bath. Perhaps you’ll join me in a few minutes. I do hope so.’
She walked her sensuous, cat-like walk across the room. Slater couldn’t stop himself from watching, and admiring, the gentle sway of her hips as she walked away from him. He knew it had been a close-run thing. She was sex-on-legs, but despite all her seductive charms, it had been the lip-biting that had nearly swayed him. If she had done that a bit more, he doubted he would have been able to resist.
He could hear the bath running upstairs. It was time to make a discreet withdrawal. If she came down and started biting her lip again he’d have no chance.
He climbed quietly to his feet and headed for the front door. There was a well-scuffed handbag lying on a small table just inside the front door. He couldn’t resist stopping to peep inside. He was surprised to find there wasn’t much in there. Most of the women he knew could easily fill a small suitcase with the contents of their handbags.
There was a small pocket on the inside, just right for holding a few business cards. He guessed they must be her own cards, and as he’d spilt tea all over the one she had given him, he helped himself to a new one.
He glanced at it and realised it wasn’t hers at all. It was for an escort agency called Beautiful Ladies. He picked out a second. It was the same. He put the second card back, but curiosity made him keep the first one and he slipped it into his pocket.
Then he eased the front door open and crept quietly out of the house, making sure the door had locked behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When they gathered at Slater’s next morning he gave them a quick rundown on the previous evening’s events. He didn’t tell them about Ms Radstock’s failed attempt at seducing him; he didn’t think they needed to know. But he did show them the Beautiful Ladies Escort Agency business card.
Norman looked at it with interest and passed it over to Biddeford.
He turned to Slater.
‘Where d’you pick that up?’
‘She had a handful of them in her bag. I didn’t think she’d miss one.’
‘D’you think it’s relevant, or are you getting desperate for company?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you probably couldn’t afford it,’ Norman said, grinning at Slater.
‘So how does this fit in?’ asked Biddeford, turning to his laptop.
‘I’m not sure it does,’ Slater answered. ‘Perhaps I’m just nosey, but I got to wondering why a lady barrister would be carrying around a bunch of escort agency business cards.’
‘Perhaps it’s a sideline,’ suggested Norman. ‘Everyone should have a hobby. Or maybe she hands them out to judges to keep them sweet.’
‘It’s a posh-looking website,’ Biddeford interrupted. ‘It certainly looks high-class.’
‘I hope there are no naughty pictures on there that are going to embarrass you,’ teased Norman.
‘Nothing smutty here, Norm,’ Biddeford said, as he navigated his way through the site. ‘Like I said, posh, and classy.’
‘Anything that might interest us?’ asked Slater.
‘Not yet,’ answered Biddeford, clearly distracted. ‘Lots of waffle, nice looking girls. Beautiful Ladies is exactly what I’m seeing. Really nice photos actually. Oh…’
‘What?’ chorused Slater and Norman.
‘What’s up?’ insisted Slater.
‘You’d better t
ake a look at this,’ said Biddeford. ‘I think you could say this is relevant.’
They moved across to look at the laptop over his shoulders.
‘Bingo!’ said Norman. ‘It looks like Jenny Radstock might have a bit more invested in this case than you thought.’
‘Oh crap!’ was all Slater could think to say.
They were looking at a photograph of one of the ‘Beautiful Ladies’. They all knew her of course, but if there had been any doubt, the caption underneath told them her name was Ruby.
‘That bloody Jenny Radstock’s just using me, isn’t she?’ said Slater, animated with rage. ‘Bloody cow. I’m going to see her and find out what the hell she thinks she’s playing at!’
‘Whoa! Just hold on there,’ cried Norman. He placed his hands on Slater’s shoulders and held on tight. ‘Let’s just think about this for a moment before you fly off and do anything too hasty.’
Slater was tempted to push him aside and storm off, but one look told him Norman would have none of that.
‘Just sit down and let’s talk about this, Dave. You’ll regret it if you storm over there in this mood. You could blow the whole thing.’
Slater glared at him but he had to admit, Norman had a point.
‘You know I’m right, Dave. Come on now. Just sit and let’s talk about this. Please?’
Slater relaxed a little and nodded his head.
‘Okay,’ he agreed.
‘You sit down here while I make us some tea, and then we’ll talk.’
Slater let himself be eased into a chair. Norman turned to Biddeford.
‘See if you can find out who owns that site and where we can get hold of them, can you, Steve?’
Five minutes later, Slater had calmed down enough to start thinking again.
