by Ford, P. F.
“So why did your relationship end?” asked Norman.
“They all end when the girl gets to 30. I would have thought you knew that.”
“But you didn’t know that before it started, did you?” said Norman. Slater looked at him, surprised. He must be playing a hunch – it wasn’t the first time in their career together that Norman had used his gut instinct, and to great effect.
There was just a flicker of petulance across Lindy Fellows’ face before she answered.
“No. I admit I didn’t know that. I was even stupid enough to think he might make me the next Mrs Bressler, but he was obsessed with Sandra and the life they had together even though she had left him. All he wanted to do is keep reliving it over and over. That’s why we all get kicked out at 30, so he can start it all over again from where she was 25.”
They tried to get more information from her, but eventually Slater accepted that she had told them all she was going to.
“Well, thank you for your time, Miss Fellows,” said Slater. “There’s just one more thing you might be able to help us with. Do you know the address of the young lady who replaced you in Mr Bressler’s life?”
“No-one could ever replace me,” she said, arrogantly. “I’ll always be special to Rudy. But if you mean the girl who went to live with him after me, then yes, it’s in my address book. I’ll get it for you.”
“It’s okay,” said Slater, tearing a sheet of paper from his notebook. “Perhaps you could just write it down on here for me.”
She took the sheet of paper and left the room, returning shortly to hand him the neatly written address.
“Thank you,” said Slater, folding the paper carefully and putting it in his pocket. “Now we’ll get out of your way and you can get back to chopping your logs.”
“So what do we think?” Slater asked, interested to hear Norman’s take on Lindy Fellows.
It was a nice day, so they’d elected to stop for tea at a roadside snack bar. There was no one else around so they were sat at a wooden picnic table enjoying the sun on their backs.
“I think a bacon and egg sandwich would be a good idea,” Norman said, grumbling.
“And I think you eat far too much fried food and bread,” said Slater. “You need to start looking after yourself. From now on, I intend to stop you eating anything like that. I’m going to educate you about healthy food choices if it kills me.”
“Have you become my mother all of a sudden?” Norman glared at Slater. “I like fried food.”
“So,” said Slater. “It was alright for you to look out for me the other day, but it’s not alright for me to look out for you. How does that work, then?”
“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t kill Steve Biddeford,” Norman said.
“And I just want to make sure you don’t kill yourself.” Slater glared back at him.
“I also wanted to make sure you don’t get involved with a witness in this murder case,” Norman said, sniffing haughtily.
“Don’t argue, and don’t try to change the subject. You know you’re unfit. You even have to stop for breath when you climb a flight of stairs.”
“So, I’m a little overweight. Is that so bad? Lots of people are.”
“Norm, you’re not just ‘a little’ overweight. You’re a helluva lot overweight, and you know it. As your partner, I’m not asking you to lose it, I’m telling you. This job involves teamwork. That means if someone does a runner, we both have to chase. It does not mean I get to do all the chasing while you sit on your arse and watch.”
Norman brooded in silence for a couple of minutes. Slater knew his comments had hit home. Surely it wasn’t a surprise to Norman that he was out of shape? He must look in the mirror from time to time.
Norman took a sip of his tea.
“Ugghh!” he said. “I also think this tea tastes like shite. I reckon those tea bags they’re using have been dried out and re-used. At least twice.”
“It’s not good is it?” Slater said, pulling a face as he tasted his, too. “Perhaps we should have had coffee.”
“Anyway, what you really meant is, what do I think of Lindy Fellows, right?” asked Norman.
“Exactly,” Slater said, nodding.
“She’s what we used to call drop-dead gorgeous when I was a teenager,” Norman said, smiling wistfully. “I think kids today would say she was fit, and they’d be right. Yet she seems to have chosen to live alone. Maybe I’m a dinosaur, but that strikes me as odd. Yeah, I know there could be all sorts of reasons for that, but I still think it’s odd.
“And then there’s the way she swings that axe. Now, I’m a definitely a city boy, and there isn’t much call for splitting logs where I come from, but is it usual for a woman to be quite so handy with an axe?
“Also she’s definitely lying about her and Bressler. I reckon they were an item before Sandra disappeared.”
“Me too.” Slater didn’t think Lindy Fellows had been telling them the whole truth. “Perhaps when Dr McCall calls me back he’ll confirm that.”
He took another sip of his tea. Norm was right, it really did taste like shite.
“Here’s something for you to think about.” He set his cup down, trying to get rid of the unpleasant taste in his mouth. “Cindy and Lindy both confirm the fact that Bressler seems to live in some sort of personal time loop where he keeps reliving five years of him and Sandra. Now, we know he used to cheat on the real Sandra, so it figures he would cheat on a pretend Sandra too. According to Cindy, he definitely cheats on her. In fact, she says he never has sex with her. What if he never has sex with any of his girlfriends, but he cheats on them instead?”
“I’d say that was pretty weird,” said Norman. “But then the one thing we know for sure is that Bressler is one weird guy.”
Slater waited for Norman to catch up with his train of thought.
“Oh. I see where you’re going with this,” Norman said, suddenly. “You think Lindy’s the other woman, right?”
“She’s conveniently close,” said Slater. “And it would explain why there appears to be no man in her life.”
“But isn’t she too old?” asked Norman.
“Maybe. But suppose she’s the constant that makes the whole thing work for him?”
Norman leaned away from Slater, turned towards him and gave him a long appraising look.
“You have some very strange ideas, Dave Slater,” he said. “I think you ought to see a psychologist.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way I think,” protested Slater. “I’m very creative in my thinking.”
“I know you are,” Norman said. “I’m saying I agree with you. I meant you need to see a psychologist to find out if your theory about Bressler makes sense. If you’re right, we have a good motive for him to be the killer. And Lindy Fellows could easily be in the frame as his accomplice.”
“It adds up even more if he knew Sandra was going to leave him,” said Slater.
“Yeah, that’s true.” Norman nodded. “Just because we found the bodies here, it doesn’t mean she never left, or that she wasn’t going to leave. We need to find someone who knows. If she didn’t tell her parents, maybe she told a friend.”
“I’ve got Jolly Jane working on finding her old friends,” said Slater. “She’ll find someone.”
In Norman’s jacket pocket, his phone began to blast out a tinny version of Blondie’s ‘Call Me’. Slater cringed in embarrassment, glad there was no one else around to hear it.
Norman rummaged in his pocket for the phone.
“Yo! This is Norm,” he boomed into it.
Slater tried to listen to the conversation, but it was impossible to make sense of it from only Norman’s responses.
“That was Steve Biddeford,” said Norman finally, closing his phone as they walked back to their car. “He’s been poking around at that airfield, finding out who keeps aircraft up there.”
“Anyone we know?” asked Slater.
“No one involved with th
is case,” replied Norman. “But he says one name jumped out at him. Someone he met with you down at the sports centre. He says the guy pissed you both off and that’s why he remembered the name. Some guy called Rodney Rodgers. Ring a bell?”
“That tosser can fly an airplane?” Slater was surprised Rodney Rodgers could even spell ‘airplane’. “It must be easier than I thought.”
“He made a good impression on you, then?” Norman asked, laughing.
“The guy’s a tit,” Slater said, shaking his head. “That’s why I remember him.”
On the way back to the station, Norman called Bob Murray. From what Slater could glean from the conversation, Murray hadn’t been best pleased to have his lunch interrupted. It seemed that he soon changed his tune when Norman told him why he needed to arrange a meeting so urgently, though, and Murray had agreed to see him when they got back to the station.
Chapter 31
As Norman was puffing his way up to see the boss, Slater was wondering how all those sticky notes seemed to attach themselves to his desk when he was out. Was there some sort of conspiracy going on? Did people wait until he was out before they called? Or did someone save up all the messages until he went out?
His glanced at the four notes. He discarded the first as a waste of time, but the remaining three required his attention. One said Ian Becks had called, and asked if he could return the call. The second said Dr McCall had called, and again, could he return the call. The third said Ian Becks had called, again. On the basis that Ian Becks was downstairs and wasn’t going to run away, Slater decided to call Dr McCall first.
The doctor was what Slater would have described as old school, and from the sound of his voice, he was probably in his 60s. The doctor didn’t like time wasters, and he didn’t like to be a time waster, so the call was soon over, but by the time he put the phone down, Slater was happy enough.
“Oh yes,” the doctor had told him. “I remember Dr Bressler, and Dr Fellows. They came to two or three of the conferences I arranged. It was an open secret that they were an item. They always had separate rooms, but she never slept in hers.
“It was damned embarrassing for everyone. We all knew what they were up to. It was even worse for me because I knew his wife. It made me very uncomfortable to tell the truth. It was like I was a part of their dirty little secret. It ended my friendship with Bressler.”
Next, it was the turn of Ian Becks.
“I understand you’ve been looking for me,” said Slater, when Becks answered.
“Why is it you’re never around when I have something to tell you?”
“It’s because I’m so popular,” Slater said. “I get to go out and meet all these interesting people. You, meanwhile, are stuck down there in your dungeon, where you belong, and where you can’t frighten members of the public. You should think yourself lucky I’m prepared to share any of my precious time with you.”
“Yeah, right, oh lord and master,” said Becks. “Thank you so much for sparing the time to call me back. Please accept my humble thanks. I wish you a short and painful life. And in case you’re wondering, yes, I am waving two fingers at you.”
“Just as long as you know your place,” Slater said, laughing. “So what have you got for me?”
“Your handwriting sample. It’s definitely not Sandra Bressler’s signature on those cheques.”
“I didn’t really think it would be,” said Slater. “Of course, now we’ve got to figure out who’s it is.”
“Sorry, mate. Can’t help you there,” said Becks. “It’s your job to find out who, and my job to do the clever stuff and confirm your findings using science.”
“Yeah,” said Slater ironically. “Of course we’re all idiots up here. But, it just so happens, this idiot has another sample for your handwriting expert.”
“Well then, you’d better get it down here quick, before they go.”
“It’s already on the way,” said Slater.
“Good,” said Becks. “Now, do you intend to carry on wasting my time, or would you like to hear what else I’ve got for you?”
“What? What else have you got for me?” Slater was puzzled.
“That DNA sample of Bressler’s.”
“Oh, that. I’d almost forgotten. We’ve got nothing for you to compare it with yet.”
“Ah, but you’re wrong,” said Becks triumphantly.
“I am?”
“To be honest, it wouldn’t have happened if it was down to me. I wouldn’t have had the time to do it, unless you’d asked of course.”
“You’re losing me, Becksy,” said Slater. “What are you on about?”
“If I was here on my own, as I usually am, I would have saved the sample and not processed it until you asked me to compare it with something else. Because, you see, normally I wouldn’t have the time.”
“Right.” Slater was still baffled. “So this means what exactly?”
“Nadira took the sample and processed it for me,” continued Becks. “And just because she had the two samples, and she had the time, she compared Bressler’s DNA with the sample from the little girl, Rose.”
Slater liked Ian Becks, but he had this annoying habit of going all around the houses before he got to the point. Sometimes it could get a bit tiresome.
“And?” asked Slater impatiently.
“And it doesn’t match.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t match,” repeated Becks. “Bressler’s not the girl’s father.”
“Bloody hell.” Slater was surprised. “I hadn’t bargained on that.”
“I thought so,” said Becks, knowing that he had made an already complicated situation even more complex. “That’s why I was so keen to tell you.”
“You’re sure about this?” asked Slater.
“Of course I’m bloody sure,” said Becks. “Are you suggesting we don’t know what we’re doing down here?”
“Well, no. Of course not,” said Slater, still shocked by what Becks had just told him. “I just wasn’t expecting it that’s all. We hadn’t even considered it.”
“Well perhaps you should have. Maybe you’re right about being an idiot,” said Becks, cheerily. “Life’s full of little surprises.”
“It certainly is,” agreed Slater, ignoring the insult. “Well thanks, Ian. I think.”
“My pleasure,” said Becks. “Anytime you idiots want the water muddied, just let me know and I’ll do my best to help.”
There was a click as Becks hung up the phone.
Slater thought about what Becks had told him. If Bressler wasn’t the father, then who the hell was? Obviously Sandra Bressler wasn’t quite the squeaky clean, innocent victim she first appeared to be.
“Is there anybody in there?”
Slater turned with a jolt, and saw PC Jolly standing beside him.
“Sorry,” he said. He had been totally lost in his thoughts. “I was just thinking.”
“That can be dangerous,” she said. “You never know what might happen if we all started doing that.”
She was hopping nervously up and down, notes in hand.
“Either you’re going to ask me if you can go and use the loo, or you’ve got some information for me,” Slater said. “You’ve never asked my permission to use the loo before, so you must have information. Am I right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You see. My amazing deductive powers. It’s almost uncanny, isn’t it?”
“Frankly, I’m surprised any criminals are left on the streets,” Jolly’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“Wouldn’t it be great if we could suss everything out that easily?” Slater sighed. “There wouldn’t be an unsolved crime anywhere.”
“In a perfect world.”
Slater shook himself and gave her a beaming smile.
“Meanwhile, back in the real world,” he said, “this case just seems to get more and more complicated. But something tells me you’re going to solve it right now, PC Jolly.”
“I
wish I could solve it, Sir,” she said. “But what I think I’m about to do is complicate things even further.”
“Oh, deep joy.” He wasn’t sure how it could get any more complicated. Not after Ian Becks’ revelation. “Go on then, if you must.”
“Sandra Bressler,” she said. “You asked me to see if I could find any of her old friends, so I called her mum. She was obviously struggling to remember, but she did come up with two names. One of them has moved out of the area and I haven’t tracked her down yet, but I did manage to speak to the other one, Stella Grey.”
“Well done,” said Slater. “Did she remember anything about Sandra wanting to run away from Bressler?”
“She says Sandra never mentioned anything like that to her. But she did tell me something else that will interest you.”
“Oh, really?” said Slater. “Go on then, I’m listening.”
“According to Stella, Sandra had a secret.”
“Only it obviously wasn’t quite as secret as she thought it was,” Slater pointed out.
“Exactly,” said Jolly, enthusiastically. “Apparently Sandra was having an affair behind Bressler’s back.”
“Oh, was she now?” Slater thought of the DNA test. “Now that’s an interesting twist. She’s becoming less and less of an innocent victim by the minute.”
“It gets better. There’s more,” said Jolly. “It seems there was a suspicion that Bressler may not have been the father of Sandra’s baby.”
“There’s more than a suspicion, Jane,” said Slater. “It’s a fact. DNA tests have confirmed Rudy Bressler was definitely not the father of Rose Bressler.”
Slater pondered this new information for a moment.
“Of course, you realise you’ve opened the door to another potential suspect, don’t you, Jane?” he asked. “Does Stella know the name of Sandra’s secret lover?”
“She didn’t recall his name, but she remembered he worked at the local leisure centre. He ran the gym there. So I made some calls and did some checking.”
She looked immensely pleased with herself.
“Using your initiative. I like it,” Slater said, teasingly. “And did you get his name?”
