Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set One

by Ford, P. F.

  “Ha! No chance mate.” Slater shook his head, laughing. “I could never look that bad.”

  Norman and Slater were good therapy for each other with their easy banter and good humour. Slater sometimes wondered how he used to cope before Norman came along. It seemed like that had been a very long time ago, but in fact it had been a matter of just a few short months.

  They sipped lager in silence for a couple of minutes. It was Norman who broke the silence.

  “This isn’t just about meeting up with Cindy Maine, is it?”

  Slater looked at him unhappily, but said nothing.

  “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to,” said Norman. “But at least talk to me about something or this is gonna be one hell of a dull afternoon.”

  “I don’t just look like shit,” said Slater, grimly. “I feel like shit. My life is shit. Everything seems to be going to shit.”

  “Let’s just stop the bus for a minute, can we?” said Norman, worried by Slater’s little outburst. “I understand you had a bad day yesterday, but that doesn’t make everything bad, does it? I’ve told you before about this negative thinking of yours.”

  “I know.” Slater sighed heavily. “But right now, I’m finding it hard to feel positive about my life, when all I do is work and work and then do a bit more work. Take yesterday. We had a good morning and things were looking good, and then yesterday afternoon everything just seemed to go pear-shaped. It was all out of control and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

  “Why? Because the flasher escaped? Come on. That wasn’t your fault. It was nothing to do with you. And you have to take your hat off to the old guy for having the audacity to just walk out. And anyway, didn’t you say you caught him later? So what went wrong there? Didn’t it all end alright?”

  “It was a bloody nightmare, Norm. Sure, we caught the old flasher. That was easy. He was so busy wanking away all on his lonesome, he didn’t see Steve creeping up on him. I made Steve wait with the old fart, to teach him a lesson, while I went off put the wind up the others. They were all gathered around one car watching this girl shagging the brains out of some bloke.

  “It was a right sad collection of perverts and dirty old men and they were lining up to take turns with this beautiful young woman. When I got there, they thought I was trying to jump the queue. They were like animals. I had to knee some bloke in the balls to stop him from punching my head in.

  “Why on earth would a beautiful girl do that with blokes like them? It’s not as if she does it for money. I just don’t get it, Norm.”

  He stopped talking and stared at the floor. He knew without even looking at his friend’s face that Norman was probably confused by how much Slater was affected by this. They dealt with horrible stuff like this all the time, after all.

  “Ahhh!” Norman said, suddenly. “I think I see where this is going. You knew the girl, huh?”

  Slater nodded his head.

  “You know her too,” he said quietly.

  “I do?” said Norman, looking startled.

  Slater watched as Norman’s face went through a range of machinations. He was clearly wracking his brains, rifling through all the young, attractive women he knew.

  “You were talking to her yesterday morning,” said Slater. “You said she looked at you as if you’d handed her a slimy turd.”

  Slater saw the penny drop, and Norman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  “What? You mean PC Flight?” Norman’s voice had raised a whole octave.

  “Apparently also known as Blonde Bobby, the best shag in the county,” said Slater sadly. “What a friggin’ waste. She could have been a bloody good copper if she’d wanted to be.”

  “Holy shit,” said Norman. “What did you do?”

  “I wanted to knock some bloody sense into her,” said Slater, glumly. “Instead I just gave her a lecture and suggested she take some time off while she considered her future.”

  “Did Steve see her?”

  “No. And that’s another thing. Putting them together was a mistake. She seems to have been working her charms on him and got right under his skin. He seems to think she’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

  “Are you gonna tell him?”

  “I’m rather hoping she’s just going to fade quietly away and he won’t have to know,” said Slater. “But something tells me that’s just wishful thinking on my part.”

  “She’s one strange piece of work,” Norman said, whistling. “Somehow I don’t see her as the ‘fading quietly away’ type.”

  This time they both studied the floor for a while.

  “So, have you thought about what you’re going to do about her?” asked Norman.

  “I’ve been thinking about it all bloody night,” said Slater. “That’s why I look and feel like shit today. But I’ve decided I’m not going to do anything. It’s difficult. I know her husband. She was using his car for God’s sake.”

  “Oh hell,” said Norman. “So you got his registration number along with the others?”

  “Yeah,” said Slater. “But I have the list. When I hand it to Steve, there’s going to be one missing.”

  “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” Norman was looking at Slater intensely now.

  “No.” Slater smiled ruefully, looking up at Norman. “But I’m giving her the chance to resign without anyone finding out what happened, not even her husband. It’s a chance for her to sort herself out and start again. Maybe she needs to get some help. To my mind, giving her that chance is the right thing to do.”

  “I hope that decision doesn’t come back to bite your arse,” said Norman. “But you’re right about it being a shit situation.”

  He took another swig from his lager and they sat in silence for a while.

  “So, when’s this lunch going to be ready?” Norman asked, clapping his hands together. “I’m not used to eating lunch this late in the afternoon. I’m starving.”

  Chapter 22

  Sharing a case of lager with Norman hadn’t seemed such a bad idea on Sunday afternoon. Even when it started getting late and Norman conceded he would, yet again, have to sleep on Slater’s settee because he was over the limit and unable to drive home, it had still seemed pretty cool. But then, at six o’clock this morning, when his alarm had gone off, Slater realised that maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  Sunday afternoon had started off okay. Once they’d got past the thorny issue of PC Flight and her extra-curricular activities, they’d spent the next couple of hours trying to figure out why Slater thought his life was so shit. Norman had assumed his usual agony aunt persona and concluded Slater needed some interests other than work.

  Not for the first time, he had suggested a good woman in his life would be a suitably positive step in the right direction, and reminded him that Jelena might just be that suitably good woman. He had also warned him that he’d never find out if he didn’t ask her out and actually talk to her.

  From that point on, everything seemed to get a bit hazy, but Slater was pretty sure that between them, they’d come up with answers to almost all the world’s problems, finally concluding that they should be running the world and that all politicians were arseholes who couldn’t solve a problem if it came complete with a built-in answer.

  This morning, to put it bluntly, Slater felt like shite, but at least this time it was a physical thing and not a mood thing. This made it okay to feel shite, because he knew it was his own fault, and besides, if he drank enough coffee he figured he would soon begin to feel human again. He looked enviously at Norman, shambling along beside him. His clothes looked as if they’d been stolen from a scarecrow, and Slater certainly didn’t envy him that, but how come the bugger looked so bloody bright and cheerful? You’d never know he’d had a drink yesterday.

  A low murmur of conversation filled the incident room as they entered and made their way to the front desk. Before either of them could say anything, Jane Jolly appeared.

&nb
sp; “PC Flight’s called in sick, Sir,” she said.

  “Yes. Right,” said Slater, uncomfortably.

  Jolly looked at him strangely, and Slater knew his reaction had probably seemed a bit odd.

  “Right,” he said, beginning the briefing. “We’ve had some interesting developments and we’ve got one or two leads that probably should have meant something to the original inquiry, but don’t appear to have been checked out. We believe they are worth pursuing, so listen up.”

  Slater noticed Steve Biddeford wasn’t in his usual place right at the front. Instead, he was right at the back, and he didn’t appear to be paying a great deal of attention, which wasn’t like him at all. It was as if he had something on his mind and he was brooding over it. He made a mental note to try to find time to ask him what was wrong.

  Slater’s observation that Biddeford wasn’t paying much attention was correct. Hidden away at the back of the room, he wasn’t listening to the briefing at all. He was pissed off. He was pissed off with being used as a bloody clerk by Slater and Norman. Phillipa Flight had told him he was being used, and she was right. He was pissed off with Slater for another reason too. It was his fault Flight was off sick. She’d turned up at his house yesterday afternoon. The poor girl had been distraught, but she’d had no-one else to turn to.

  She had told him how Slater had been sexually harassing her for weeks and how things had come to a head Saturday night, and that she just couldn’t take any more. From what she’d said, it sounded as though he’d almost raped her. Biddeford had told her she should make an official complaint, but she’d just asked what was the point? She thought no one would believe her word against Golden Boy Slater. She was going to resign instead.

  But that just wasn’t fair, was it? If Slater was some sort of sex pest, why should he get away with it? If Phillipa wouldn’t make a complaint, then perhaps he should. He’d told her so this morning when they’d woken up. She had insisted he shouldn’t, and he’d told her he wouldn’t, but on the drive to work he’d realised he had to do what he believed was right. He was going to see Bob Murray later and do just that.

  “So that’s where we are,” Slater concluded. “We’ve got progress on the light aircraft front, thanks to good work from DC Biddeford and PC Flight, and we’ve got the new leads. There’s the telephone issue – was it working or not? And we’ve got the taxi. Did Sandra book it, and if so, where was she going? Did she even get in it?”

  “We’re making progress. Well done everyone. See DS Norman before you head off for breakfast and he’ll give you your assignments for today.”

  There was the sound of chairs scraping on the floor as people began to get to their feet and make their way to the front.

  “One more thing I nearly forgot. While all that was going down on Saturday, we also caught Dick Waver, the Phantom Flasher. Well done DC Biddeford and PC Flight, again.”

  This announcement was accompanied by a small round of cheering, some ironic boos, and a lot of ribald comments. Slater stood back out of the way to allow everyone easy access to Norman, and took a big, long, slug of coffee. When you step back and looked at it objectively, we are making progress. It’s never quick enough, of course, but we are finding leads to follow, and that has to be progress. He became aware PC Jolly was standing before him.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  “Sure,” said Slater. “Fire away.”

  “I may well be speaking out of turn,” she said. “But I’ve got a problem with this inquiry.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “There’s one victim who seems to be getting forgotten about,” she said. “And being a mum with a little girl of my own, I’m becoming a bit uncomfortable about it.”

  She pointed at the white boards. Slater’s gaze followed where she indicated.

  “We haven’t even got the poor little thing’s name on the bloody board,” she said, sadly. “And that piddly little photo. Can’t we get a decent sized one put up there? Perhaps then everyone might notice that she was a victim too.”

  Slater knew she was right on the mark. He suddenly felt about an inch tall. His face was glowing red like a traffic light.

  “Is this where I get chewed off for speaking out of turn?” Jolly said, nervously.

  “Not at all,” said Slater. “On the contrary, this is where I go and find a nice big stone to hide under. I’m ashamed to admit it, but you’re right. We’ve focused so much on the adults, simply because we feel that’s where our best leads will come from, but we should never forget there’s a third victim. Can I ask you to get this sorted for me today?”

  “I’d love to,” she said. “Leave it with me.”

  As she turned to go, he called her back.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” She smiled, turning to Norman.

  “Ah, PC Jolly Jane,” said Norman, sorting out a task sheet and handing it to her. “It’s your lucky day. Today you get to look for the needle in the haystack.”

  “Come on, then,” she said, sighing. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Fifteen years ago, a taxi supposedly picked up Sandra Bressler from her house. To win today’s star prize of a night out with yours truly, all you have to do is find out which taxi company.”

  “Oh, you’re so kind,” she said, laughing. “I get all the easy jobs. Is there a booby prize if I fail?”

  “Oh yes, you lucky girl. The prize for failure is a night IN with me.”

  “Now there’s an incentive to succeed if ever there was one,” she said over her shoulder, as she bustled away.

  “And the next lucky winner,” said Norman, to the remaining two detectives. “Is DC Tony Ashton, who gets not one, but two tasks.”

  “Bring it on,” said Ashton, as keen as ever.

  “Okay,” began Norman, handing him a task sheet. “Task number one is to contact BT and find out the state of play with the telephone line to the Bressler’s house back then. Was it connected before they moved in? Was it working? Was it reported as not working? Blah, blah, blah.

  “Task number two is to look into Sandra Bressler’s bank accounts. You know the drill – we’re looking for anything that looks suspicious. We especially want to know if she was stashing money away, so check for savings accounts or large withdrawals of cash.”

  “I’m on it,” said Ashton, and headed out of the room.

  “And that just leaves our star performer.” Norman smiled at Biddeford.

  Slater watched as Biddeford stared grumpily at Norman. What was going on with him today?

  “Did you get out of bed on the wrong side today?” enquired Norman.

  “Have you got anything special for me today, or not?” said Biddeford. “Because if you haven’t I’ll get on my way. I’ve got an airplane to look for.”

  “That’ll keep for tomorrow,” said Norman. “We want you to look into Bressler’s background today.”

  “Oh, terrific.” Biddeford sighed heavily. “Another day stuck in front of a bloody computer.”

  Slater had walked over to stand beside Norman; he wanted to speak to Biddeford when they had finished. His mouth dropped open in surprise at this outburst, and he saw Norman’s do the same.

  “D’you have a problem with that, Detective Constable?” asked Norman, bristling with anger.

  “What do you care if I have?” snapped Biddeford.

  “Hey,” said Slater, shocked by Biddeford’s venom. “Just watch with the attitude, Steve.”

  “Pick on Steve Biddeford day, is it?” Biddeford glared at Slater.

  For a few brief seconds there was a standoff, Slater and Norman one side of the table, and Biddeford the other. It was Slater who broke the ice.

  “Let’s start again, shall we? How did it go yesterday interviewing the flasher with Tony Ashton?”

  Biddeford tossed the folder he was holding onto the desk in front of Slater.

  “It’s all in my report.”

  Slater felt like Biddeford was trying to g
oad him, but he had absolutely no idea why. He had to bite his tongue not to retaliate. Perhaps something had happened outside of work to put Biddeford in a rotten mood.

  “I’ve got those registration numbers from Saturday night,” said Slater, handing Biddeford a sheet of paper. “Can you get someone to find out who the owners are and we can go pay them all a visit.”

  Biddeford took the list and looked at it.

  “You’ve missed one. I’m sure there were eight cars, but there’s only seven numbers here.”

  “Well, I only seem to have the seven,” said Slater, carefully. “Perhaps you were mistaken.”

  “I don’t think I am, but if you say so, I suppose I must have been,” said Biddeford, sulkily.

  That was it. Slater had had enough of the sulky little boy attitude.

  “Look,” he said, sternly. “I don’t know what your problem is this morning, but whatever it is, you’re no good to this team if you’re going to behave like a little boy who’s lost his favourite toy. I suggest you go and find yourself a better attitude before you start work, otherwise you might just as well sod off for the rest of the day.”

  “Is that it?” said Biddeford. “You finished?”

  “Yes,” said Slater.

  “Good,” said Biddeford. “In that case I’ll do what you said and sod off for the rest of the day. Alright?”

  With that, he turned and slammed his way out of the room. Slater and Norman watched him go.

  “What was that all about?” asked Norman.

  “Buggered if I know,” said Slater, wearily.

  “That’s not because someone’s been taking the piss over the flasher escaping, is it?”

  “I don’t see how. I don’t think anyone really knows about it except me, you, him, and the duty sergeant, and he’s not going to take the piss without making himself look an idiot, is he?”

  “This just isn’t like him at all, is it?” said Norman. “I wonder what’s got into him?”

  “No, it’s not like him, but if he doesn’t want to talk about it there’s not much we can do is there? Let’s just give him some space. I’m sure he’ll be alright later.”