Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set One

by Ford, P. F.

  “You’re certainly right about the self-pity,” Norman said, nodding. “It solves nothing and just gets in the way.”

  “Yes. Well,” said Bressler. “Talking of getting in the way, I have to make some overseas calls.”

  “On a Saturday?” Norman raised an eyebrow.

  “They never stop working in the Far East, so if you want to deal with them you have to be prepared to do the same.”

  “Right. Yes, of course,” said Slater, catching the rather obvious hint. “Thank you very much for your time, Mr Bressler, we really appreciate it.”

  “That’s okay,” said Bressler, getting to his feet. “If there’s anything else I can do, just let me know.”

  “There is one thing that would help us, if you wouldn’t mind.” Slater wondered how he would take the request.

  “What’s that?”

  “Could we take a DNA sample?”

  “Am I some sort of suspect?”

  “Not at all. This would be more for elimination purposes.”

  “I don’t see how it will help,” said Bressler. “I wasn’t even there at the time. But, there again, I’ve got nothing to hide. Do you want to do it now?”

  “It’ll take just one minute,” said Slater, “and then we’ll get out of your way.”

  As they got back into the car, Norman turned to look at Slater.

  “You didn’t mention anything about asking for a DNA sample when we were talking before we got to his house,” said Norman, before putting the key in the ignition and starting the car.

  “It was a spur of the moment thing,” Slater said, truthfully.

  “But we don’t need it. We already know who the daughter is from the match with her mother’s DNA.”

  “I know, I know. I was just taking a leaf out of your book and being proactive. As you yourself would say, ‘you never know when it might come in handy.’”

  “You got me there,” said Norman with a grin. “It’s good to hear you feel you can still learn something from an old codger like me.”

  “I’ll never stop learning from you, Norm,” Slater said, laughing. “Being with you is one long educational experience.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” Norman smiled, looking happy. “Anyway, what did you make of all that?”

  “You mean Bressler’s story?” asked Slater. “He seems quite candid. A lot of people wouldn’t have admitted they were having an affair, would they? But I think if it had been me, I would have been a heck of a lot more suspicious about Sandra’s sudden desire to move away from her mother.”

  Norman took a quick sideways glance at Slater as he drove.

  “But then you, my friend, have never really loved a woman, have you?” he said.

  “What does that mean?” asked a puzzled Slater.

  “Take it from me. When you really, really, love a woman, you’ll do anything to try and keep her happy, especially if you’ve been going through a rough patch. When you see an opportunity to get the train back on the rails you don’t question it, you just grab it with both hands.”

  “I think if I really, really, loved a woman I wouldn’t be having an affair behind her back,” Slater said, shrugging. “The two seem incompatible to me.”

  “In your ‘ideal world’ view, maybe they are,” said Norman. “But in the real world, that’s how some people deal with loneliness and unhappiness. In fact, that’s how a lot of people deal with it.”

  “If he was that unhappy, why not just boot the mother-in-law out and tell her to stay away?” Slater asked.

  “And risk pissing off his wife? The woman he would do anything to keep happy?”

  “Yeah, but-” began Slater.

  “Trust me,” interrupted Norman. “You would rather allow yourself to be miserable, and find some way of making that bearable, than risk making her unhappy. That’s where the affair comes in. It’s a diversion that makes the misery bearable. It’s why the guy can tell you he loved his wife, even though he was having an affair, and mean it. The affair was the diversion that helped him cope with the misery and loneliness.”

  Slater sat back in his seat and looked across at Norman, not quite sure what to think. He was surprised at the depth of Norman’s feelings, and his passion on the subject.

  “Are you justifying people having affairs?” he asked.

  “No, certainly not,” said Norman. “I’m not justifying anything. I’m just suggesting there’s a lot more to it than simple black and white moral standards. People and relationships are much more complex than that, and we need to be aware of it.”

  Slater continued to stare at Norman’s profile.

  Norman glanced back at him.

  “What?” he asked Slater.

  “Are you sure you don’t write an agony aunt column? Because you sure sound like one.”

  “I’ve just been around longer than you, that’s all,” Norman said. “I’ve been married, and loved someone so much it hurts. I know about these things, alright?”

  “Ah!” The realisation suddenly dawned on Slater. “You mean your wife-”

  “Who is not relevant to this inquiry and is not up for discussion anyway,” interrupted Norman, killing that particular conversation stone dead.

  “Right,” said Slater. “Point taken.”

  Now he thought he understood exactly why Norman knew so much about this particular subject. He knew Norman’s wife had refused to move from London to Northumberland a few years ago, when he’d been transferred up there. Now he figured he’d just discovered why he never seemed to have anything to do with her now he was in Hampshire, just an hour or so away from her up in London.

  He sat in silence for a minute or two before he changed the subject.

  “So, do we think Rudy Bressler’s a suspect?” he asked.

  “I think we’d be making a mistake to assume anything was done right in the first inquiry,” said Norman. “So I think we have to regard everyone as a possible suspect right now. My gut tells me he’s not our man, and his alibi will probably prove to be genuine, but my head tells me he has the money to pay someone else to do the job for him.”

  “We’ll get Steve to do the business on him when we get back.” Slater agreed with Norman’s appraisal of Rudy Bressler. “He might not be our murderer, but I get the feeling there’s something going on with him. He claims to be a part-time doctor with some investments. They must be bloody good investments to fund his lifestyle.”

  “You’re telling me,” Norman said, letting out a whistle. “Some of those books are worth a fortune. I’m no expert, but I’ve been on a few forgery cases over the years and one of them was all about old books. I had to learn a bit back then and it’s stayed with me.”

  “Wow!” Slater grinned at him. “Is there no end to your talents, Norm?”

  Chapter 16

  Over at Trapworth airfield Steve Biddeford and his new pal Phil had found Captain Smithers in the control tower on the upper floor of the pavilion. Biddeford had been relieved at this – he didn’t like the look of that wreck of a barn and really didn’t fancy being under that sagging roof.

  “Ah hello, old boy, do come in,” said Smithers, shaking Biddeford’s hand. Then he turned his attention to Phillipa Flight, evidently finding her much more interesting.

  “Well, hello,” he purred, taking Flight’s hand and holding it for much longer than was necessary. “Well, you certainly bring some sunshine to a dull day.”

  Biddeford saw Flight smile sweetly at him, but immediately caught on to the frosty atmosphere emanating from her. This time, though, he could fully understand it. Captain Smithers was behaving as if he had just escaped from some sort of time warp where they all behaved as if they were in old Carry On films.

  Surely he must be aware how obnoxious his behaviour is, thought Biddeford. He had the distinct feeling that if he couldn’t keep the captain away from her, PC Flight would shortly be drawing his attention to it, probably with a swift kick in the goolies.

  “Would it be alright if my
colleague takes a look around while we talk?” he asked Smithers.

  “Err, oh,” said Smithers, disappointed etched all over his face. Then his face brightened. “Why don’t I take her on a tour?” he suggested. “It would be a pleasure.”

  “Yes,” said Biddeford. “I’m sure it would. But we’re very pushed for time today, and it will be much quicker if she looks around while we talk.”

  Flight was quick to understand that Biddeford was offering her an escape and didn’t need asking twice.

  “You’re right, sir,” she said, looking at her watch. “It’ll be much quicker. I’ll get started right away.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and skipped away down the stairs, flashing a quick smile over her shoulder at Biddeford as she went.

  “I thought we’d covered all you wanted to know when we spoke on the phone,” Smithers said to Biddeford.

  “It’s always good to come and see, don’t you think?” said Biddeford. “And there are one or two points I need to go over again.”

  “Points? What points?”

  “It’s about the flight plans,” said Biddeford. “And night flights.”

  “I told you, old boy,” said Smithers. “No one’s allowed up in the air without first logging a flight plan, even if they’re just going up in the air for a five-minute joy ride. It’s all a matter of safety. The flight plan gives destinations and estimated arrival times – if anyone goes missing, we know when to start worrying and where we should start looking.

  “As for night flights, I already told you we don’t do them here. No one, but no one, is allowed to take off from here within an hour of nightfall.”

  He looked at Biddeford defiantly, as if he thought he was being impertinent by daring to question such an authority figure as himself. But Biddeford wasn’t going to be intimidated. He had a job to do.

  “I understand it’s not allowed,” he said, patiently. “But what’s to stop someone filing a flight plan and then going somewhere else?”

  “Preposterous!” spluttered Smithers. “I’m here all the time, every day. It just couldn’t happen. I don’t know what class of people you’re used to dealing with, young man, but they’re obviously the wrong sort. The people who keep their aircraft here are gentlemen, and a gentleman’s word is his bond.”

  “In other words,” said Biddeford, “there’s nothing to stop it from happening. I suppose the same goes for night flying, does it? They’re all good boys and do as you say, right?”

  “It’s forbidden-” began Smithers.

  “Yes, yes,” said Biddeford. “It’s not allowed. You already said. But it is possible, isn’t it?”

  “Aha!” said Smithers, triumphantly. “Now that’s where you’re wrong. No, it isn’t possible. We don’t have a licence to allow planes to take off and land after dark because we have no landing lights. We’re just not equipped for it, you see. That’s why we always close up at night. And our security is very good. The gates are double-locked. I see to it myself, every night. People can’t just come in here any time it suits, you know.”

  “Double-locked, eh? Right,” said Biddeford, doubtfully.

  From what he’d seen and heard, he thought it wouldn’t be too difficult to pull the wool over Captain Smithers’ eyes. He reckoned anyone could come and go as they pleased. He would check the gate on the way out, but he found it difficult to believe the security here was going to be up to much.

  “I can assure you you’re barking up the wrong tree if you think there’s anything happening here that shouldn’t be,” said Smithers.

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” Biddeford didn’t think he was right at all. “Well, thank you for your time, Captain Smithers. You’ve been very helpful,” he said, even though the captain had been nothing of the sort. “I’ll just go and find my colleague and we’ll be on our way.”

  He found Flight waiting for him just outside the pavilion entrance. They talked as they walked to their car.

  “Thanks for getting me away from that dirty old pervert,” she said, smiling at him.

  “I thought you were about ready to kick him in the balls,” explained Biddeford, with a broad grin. “That would have made it pretty difficult to get much sense out of him, so I thought it best to make sure your feet were nowhere near his testicles.”

  “He was asking for it,” she said, laughing.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had,” said Biddeford. “But not this time. Maybe next time I’ll let you loose on him. Did you find anything interesting?”

  “There was a guy tinkering with one of those old wrecks in the barn. He thinks Captain Smithers is a complete arse. Apparently I’m not the first woman he’s rubbed up the wrong way.”

  “Now there’s a surprise,” said Biddeford.

  “Although normally he likes to literally rub them up, if you see what I mean.”

  “That would have been worth seeing.”

  “I’d break his bloody arm,” said Flight. “And then kick his balls.”

  Biddeford had no doubt she meant exactly what she said, and he winced at the idea.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “That’s enough about the old sod’s dirty habits. It was the other stuff this guy told me that really interested me. It seems the old boy claims to be here every hour of the day, but according to my source, he frequently disappears for hours at a time.”

  “Captain Smithers is full of wind and piss,” said Biddeford. “According to him, everyone who keeps an aircraft is as good as gold and wouldn’t dream of breaking the rules. And not only does he claim to be here every hour of the day, he also claims to lock up an hour before dark every night.”

  “That must be on the nights he’s not so drunk he can’t stand up,” Flight said, shaking her head. “Apparently, the old goat likes a drink or 10. He lost his driving licence a few years ago. Now he often sleeps here at the airfield because he’s too pissed to drive home or lock up.”

  They were in the car now, heading back across the field towards the gates.

  “So, basically, anyone could come and go at any time of the day or night, and the chances are that Smithers either won’t be here, or he’ll be in a drunken stupor,” said Biddeford.

  “That’s about the size of it,” Flight said, nodding as they neared the gates to the airfield.

  “Pull up by those gates, can you, Phil?” asked Biddeford. “Let’s see how good the old duffer’s security really is.”

  She pulled up just outside the gates and followed Biddeford as he walked over to the nearest gate. An ancient, rusting, padlock hung from a chain. On the opposite gate, they could see a similar padlock. Biddeford took the lock in his hand and studied it for a moment. He fiddled in his pocket and produced a pick. It took him all of 10 seconds to unlock the padlock and lock it again. He dropped it in disgust and it clanged against the gate.

  “A bloody 10-year-old could open that with a hairpin,” he said, sighing. “Double locked my arse.”

  “If it ever is locked,” added Flight.

  “Yes. Quite.” Biddeford looked at the padlock and shook his head. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  They climbed back into the car.

  “Where to, boss?” asked Flight.

  Biddeford looked at his watch. It was 10.30am.

  “Right,” he explained. “So far I’ve drawn a blank in my search for a light aircraft flying at night. I was beginning to wonder if I was wasting my time, but now we’ve been to Trapworth I’m beginning to think we might be on the right track. But if we could actually prove there was a plane flying over that night it would be a big help, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah. I suppose it would,” Flight said.

  “So how do you fancy helping me with some house to house? Just those houses closest to the Haunted Copse. I know it’s a long shot, but if you’ll help me for a couple of hours I’ll buy you lunch. Deal?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Flight smiled at him.

  “Let’s go then, Batman,” Bid
deford said, grinning back.

  Chapter 17

  As PC Flight drove Biddeford away from the airfield, and in the general direction of the Haunted Copse, he explained his theory.

  The Haunted Copse was in a pretty isolated spot and there were no houses in the immediate vicinity. The closest were gathered in a small cul-de-sac called Copse Close. They were probably a good way off by road, but Biddeford had studied the map and realised they were not much more than a quarter of a mile away as the crow flies. He figured sound travels in straight lines, just like the proverbial crow, so if a light aircraft had passed overhead on the night in question, as it must have if the girl had fallen from it, there was a possibility it could have been low enough to be heard from one of the houses in the close.

  “Like I said before, it’s a long shot,” he said.

  “It makes perfect sense,” said Flight. “The problem we might come up against, though, is it was at night. People tend to be shut away in front of their TVs at night. The sound of a TV set could easily drown out the sound of a small aircraft going over.”

  “Yeah.” Biddeford sighed, gloomily. “That is going to be a problem.”

  “But,” said Flight, cheerily, “we’ll only find out if we ask, won’t we?”

  “It’s only 12 houses, so it shouldn’t take us long,” said Biddeford, immediately cheered, and encouraged, by his partner’s attitude.

  “That’s six each,” Flight said. “An hour tops. Then you’re buying lunch, right?”

  “That’s the deal.”

  “I could get to enjoy being with you,” said Flight, smiling at Biddeford.

  Sitting happily alongside her, Steve Biddeford thought he could very easily get to enjoy being with Phillipa Flight.

  It had taken much less time than Flight had estimated. But that was because no one seemed to have heard anything. Just as Flight had said, their light aircraft had been competing with the TV for attention that night. There was just one house left.