by Ford, P. F.
“And you know nothing about that?”
“Nothing.”
Biddeford stared at Rodgers.
“Hmmm,” he said, doubtfully. “And that’s it, is it?”
“What else do you want me to say?” said Rodgers. “That I know where she ran off to and I helped her get there?”
Biddeford studied Rodgers in silence for a few moments before he spoke again.
“You asked me earlier how this was all connected,” he began. “So let me tell you why we believe it’s all connected and how we think it all goes together. Twenty years ago, you lost a job you love because you got a member pregnant. As a result, you ended up in a backwater called Tinton because her husband had enough clout to see to it that you were punished.
“Then, five years later, that same woman turned up in Tinton and wanted to transfer her membership to your club. We think it’s possible you didn’t like that idea, so you saw to it that she didn’t ever show her face here.”
He stopped for a moment to draw breath and to allow Rodgers a chance to speak, but Rodgers looked too horrified to say anything.
“Then, a few weeks ago,” continued Biddeford, “a young woman, who you say called herself Anne Hunter, turned up looking for you. Her real name was actually Sarah Townley. She was Sandra Bressler’s younger sister and she was looking for Sandra’s killer. She believed it was you. So now you needed to get rid of her, too.
“It just so happens you make regular, illegal night flights. So you drugged Sarah, dragged her into your airplane and then booted her out at 500 feet.”
Again, Biddeford paused to allow Rodgers to speak, but he just sat there, looking stunned.
“You read the local newspaper, Mr Rodgers. So you know as well as we do that Sandra and her daughter didn’t run anywhere, don’t you? But we think you didn’t need a local paper to find that out. We think you knew 15 years ago.”
Biddeford was fast becoming convinced Rodgers knew plenty, but he was actually too scared to tell them anything. But who was he scared of? Bressler?
“I think you know plenty, but for some reason you don’t want to tell us,” said Biddeford. “I should remind you that you are in a whole lot of trouble here. You have motive to kill Sandra, and Sarah. You also had plenty of opportunity, and we even know the exact method you used to kill them both. You’ll be put away for life, no question. And, worst of all, you killed an innocent child. No-one likes a child-killer, and they definitely don’t like child killers in prison.”
Rodgers had been listening slack-jawed as Biddeford explained his situation, but his jaw was working fine now.
“This is crazy.” Tears began streaming down his face. “I’m not a murderer. I need a break. I can’t think straight. And I want to see a solicitor.”
“I think you probably do need a break,” said Norman. “We’ll suspend this interview now, and you can spend the night in one of our guest rooms. It’ll give you time to think about how big a hole you’re in. And you’re definitely going to need a solicitor. There’s one on duty somewhere. I’ll ask someone to find him for you.”
Rodgers slumped forward on the table, sobbing, as the two detectives left the room.
It was approaching 11pm when Slater finally got the call he was expecting from Tony Ashton.
“Hi, Tony,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“About five minutes ago, Bressler carried a flight bag and a case out to his car,” said Ashton. “It looks like he’s making a move.”
“Is he still there?” asked Slater.
Ashton began relaying Bressler’s movements, his voice getting more and more excited.
“I can see him in the binoculars. He’s out front of the house talking to that blonde bird of his. Now he’s heading towards the car. He’s getting in. He’s driving off. Should I stop him, Boss? He’s not supposed to leave the country, is he?”
“It’s alright, Tony. Keep calm. I don’t think he’s going to try to leave the country. The suitcase is supposed to make Cindy Maine think he’s going abroad. He doesn’t know it, but he’s not fooling her, and he’s not fooling us either.”
“He isn’t?” asked Ashton.
“You just follow him at a safe distance. I think I know exactly where he’s going. When he gets there, he’ll turn off the road along a driveway. You just sit outside and let me know. I’ll arrange for a car to sit outside and watch overnight. We’ll pick them up in the morning.”
“We will?” said Ashton. “Okay. Right. Whatever you say, Boss.”
“Good lad,” said Slater. “I’ll speak to you in about 15 minutes.”
Sure enough, almost exactly 15 minutes later, Ashton was on the phone again, confirming Bressler had driven to a private house and appeared to be staying.
“Excellent,” said Slater. “You just hang on until your replacement arrives and then you get off home, Tony. I’ll see you back here at five thirty tomorrow morning. We’ll pick up Bressler at six.”
“You’re the boss,” said Ashton. “I’ll be there.”
It didn’t take long for Slater to arrange for two cars and four uniforms to be there to accompany him in the morning, and then he set off for home. He wasn’t going to get a lot of sleep, but if could manage four or five hours it would be better than none.
Chapter 36
Slater told the uniforms to wait further down the road until they were called, then he jumped into Ashton’s car.
“Right, Tony,” he said. “Let’s go get ‘em.”
Lindy Fellows’ face was a picture when she opened the door to find Slater and Ashton facing her. In panic, she tried to slam the door, but Slater had anticipated something like that happening, and his foot was already in the way. She had a second attempt, much harder this time. It made him swear, but by then Ashton was already charging into the door and she was knocked back as his shoulder slammed into it.
Alerted by the commotion, Bressler came rushing down the stairs.
“What the hell’s going on?” he shouted.
“Ah, Mr Bressler,” said Slater. “What a surprise. Fancy us finding you here.”
“You!” said Bressler, looking furious. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“DS Norman did explain to you yesterday that we weren’t totally stupid.” Slater was taking pleasure in this. “He also warned you that the next time we spoke it would be down at the station. He was right.”
Ashton was already radioing for the uniforms to join them.
“You even get chauffeur driven,” Slater said, smiling. “Nice drivers in nice uniforms. Shall we go into the kitchen to wait?”
Bressler was the first to be taken away. This time there was no bluster about him. It seemed the wind had been well and truly taken from his sails.
Before Lindy was led away to the other car, Slater pointed to the dresser.
“Where’s the photo gone?” he asked. “The one of Melanie graduating?”
“I hide it when I know he’s coming,” she said. “She would just remind him of Rose.”
“Oh, right. I see,” said Slater. “That would be a bit painful for him, would it?”
“Of course it would,” she said, bitterly. “Anyone who lost a daughter they loved would feel the same.”
“Yes. Of course they would.” Slater remembered what Bressler had told him yesterday, about never being able to love Rose.
“Take her away,” he said to the two uniformed PCs. “DS Norman’s waiting at the station. I’ll catch you later, Lindy.”
“How did you know he was coming here?” asked Ashton, after the others were gone. “He packed a suitcase. I was sure he was going to the airport.”
“That’s what everyone is supposed to think,” Slater said. “Let’s go and have a look in his car.”
The car was unlocked. Slater popped the boot open.
“Lift that case,” he said to Ashton.
Ashton reached in for the case and then turned, surprised to Slater. He had been right, then – it was em
pty.
“See? It’s all subterfuge,” Slater said, peering inside the empty case.
Ashton still looked rather doubtful.
“It’ll all become clear later,” said Slater. “You’ll see.”
Slater eyed Bressler across the table in the interview room. He was eager to hear what the man had to say for himself.
“Okay, Mr Bressler,” began Norman, once the formalities were out of the way. “You understand you’re here to help us with our enquiries, right?”
“Yes.” Bressler sounded impatient. “Will you just get on with it, please?”
“We have another interview going on,” Slater said. “The person we’re questioning claims you employ him on an occasional basis to fly to and from France. I just need you to confirm or deny it.”
“Is that all you want to know?” Bressler looked incredulous. “You drag me out of bed at 6am and bring me all the way here just to ask me that?”
“That’s all we want to know in connection with that particular investigation, yes,” said Slater, doing his best to remain ambiguous.
“So who’s the person?” asked Bressler.
“Rodney Rodgers,” said Slater. “Is he telling the truth?”
Bressler leaned back in his seat. If he was surprised to find they were interviewing Rodgers, he didn’t show it.
“What on earth are you interviewing him for?” asked Bressler. “What’s he done wrong?”
“You know we can’t tell you that,” said Norman. “Is he for real?”
“Yes.” Bressler heaved a sigh. “I’ve used him on and off for years now.”
“And you pay him?” asked Norman.
“Very handsomely. But that’s because he appreciates the value of the things I ask him to transport and he looks after them. That’s why I use him.”
“When was the last time you used him?”
“It must have been a couple of months ago now. I can’t tell you the exact date, but it was probably a Wednesday. It’s his regular day off, I think. He collected a couple of very old books I’d bought in an auction.”
“Employing him seems a bit strange to me,” said Slater. “It’s almost like rewarding him for sleeping with Sandra.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Sergeant,” Bressler said, sniffing snootily. “When all that happened I made so much fuss I nearly cost the man his job. He had to move away from all his friends and family, all because I couldn’t appreciate the fault wasn’t all his. It takes two to tango, and I must have driven Sandra to seek comfort elsewhere, so there were really three of us to blame. But at the time, I blamed only him. Later I felt guilty about that, so I looked him up and offered him the chance to make a bit of cash on the side.”
“You expect us to believe that?” Slater thought the whole thing sounded very unlikely.
“I don’t care if you believe it or not,” said Bressler. “It’s the truth, so it’s all you’re going to get. Now can I get out of here?”
“Not so fast Mr Bressler, we’ve got plenty more questions yet,” said Norman.
“But you said-,” began Bressler, indignantly, turning to Slater.
“I said that’s all we wanted to know about that particular inquiry,” interrupted Slater. “And I thank you for answering that question. Now I’d like to ask you some questions about another inquiry. This one relates to the death of your wife and daughter, so I’d like to think you’d be prepared to help us if you can.”
Bressler looked as though he was about to blow, but Slater stared impassively back at him.
“You would like to know what really happened, wouldn’t you, Mr Bressler?” asked Norman.
“Well, yes. Of course I would,” said Bressler, staring back at them.
“Good.” Slater smiled, broadly. “So why don’t you start by telling us how often you stay at Lindy Fellows’ house.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Bressler. “I’ve never stayed at her house before. This was a one-off visit.”
“We know you were there all night,” said Norman. “We know only one bed was slept in. That, and one or two other things we’ve discovered, gives us reason to believe you’re a regular visitor. We believe that near enough every time you go ‘away on business’, you just drive over to Lindy’s and share her bed for a few days.”
“That’s rubbish. I was just calling in to see how she was.”
“Or making sure you’ve got the story straight and you’re both singing from the same hymn sheet.” Norman raised an eyebrow.
“What story? There is no story.” Bressler’s face was turning puce.
“So why go through the pretence of packing a suitcase and telling Cindy Maine you were going on business?” Slater watched as Bressler’s expression turned to shock. He probably thought Cindy had turned on him.
“She didn’t volunteer that information,” Slater said. “I got someone to phone and ask to speak to you. She said you were away on business. Now we know why you only made six flights in the last year. You don’t need to fly to get to Lindy’s, do you? So it looks like Cindy’s an innocent victim of your cheating too. Just like Sandra was.”
Bressler looked daggers at Slater, but he said nothing.
“Does that make the whole ‘living in the past’ thing seem more real for you?” asked Slater. “I couldn’t quite figure out why you didn’t have a younger mistress like you did back then, but I asked someone who knows about these things and she told me, it would work for you if it was still the same mistress, regardless of her age. It’s all about continuity. Age range, or person, it doesn’t matter, as long as it creates continuity.”
“My lifestyle and my affairs might offend your moral sensibilities, Sergeant,” snarled Bressler. “But they’re not against the law.”
“No.” Norman spoke up now. “They’re not. But murder is.”
“How many times do I have to tell you – I didn’t murder Sandra and Rose.”
“Alright,” said Slater. “We can come back to that later. How about we go back in time? You’ll like that won’t you, Mr Bressler.”
He slid a photo across the table.
“We’ve been through this.” Bressler looked at the photo of him and Lindy at Dr McCall’s conference all those years ago. “We were just friends.”
“Yeah,” said Slater. “I remember. But what about the conference you attended when Sandra was moving house? Was Lindy there too?”
“I presume you already know she wasn’t, or you wouldn’t be asking me,” said Bressler.
“Yes, you’re right,” Slater said, nodding. “But we don’t know why she wasn’t there. Do you?”
“That was a long time ago,” said Bressler.
“But it’s a time you must remember quite well,” Norman said, steadily. “I’m sure you can recall why your lover didn’t turn up.”
“She was no longer my lover by then,” Bressler said, shrugging. “I had told her it was all over once Sandra found a house for us to buy. That’s when I thought she was for real and we were going to start over. Lindy didn’t come to the conference because I was going. She wanted to avoid me. What’s this got to do with anything anyway?”
“We think it’s got a lot to do with Sandra’s murder,” said Slater. “We think you and Lindy conspired to kill her. You had an alibi being at that conference, but you knew all the details about the move. You could quite easily have told Lindy and she could quite easily have killed Sandra and Rose.”
“This is absurd.” Bressler’s face went red again. “I’m not saying another word. I want my solicitor.”
“Okay,” said Slater. “I think you probably need one now. We’ll adjourn this interview while that’s arranged. Let’s see what your friend Lindy has to say.”
Lindy Fellows had obviously been stewing for some time as she sat in the bare room, with only a solitary, wordless PC for company.
As Slater entered the room, Norman just behind him, she stood up from the table, looking furious.
“This is
bloody outrageous.” She banged her fists on the table. “How dare you keep me here like this? I demand you let me go right now.”
Slater ignored her outburst and sat down, Norman doing likewise. Slater took an excessively long time to get himself sorted, shuffling his papers.
“So tell me,” he began, eventually. “How often does Rudy Bressler come and stay with you?”
“He doesn’t,” she snapped.
“But he was there today when we called.”
“That was a one-off. I had no idea he was coming. He said he wanted to talk about us.”
“I bet he did,” Norman said.
“So why hide the picture if you didn’t know he was coming?” asked Slater.
There was silence.
“Come on Lindy,” said Slater. “We know he’s a regular visitor, you said as much at your house earlier.”
“I did no such thing,” she cried, indignantly.
“Don’t you remember what you told me about the photograph of your niece? ‘I always hide the picture when he’s coming’ you said.”
Her face told Slater what he and Norman wanted to know. They had caught her in a trap of her own making.
“I demand you let me out of here.” Her voice was loud and shrill. “You’re making a terrible mistake. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
She let out a piercing scream, which seemed to echo in the confines of the small room. She banged her fists on the table again. The detectives stared impassively at her but said nothing. She stared defiantly back at them.
“Oh my,” said Norman, quietly. “That’s some temper you have there.”
“Finished shouting now?” asked Slater.
“I’ve been waiting hours,” she said.
“I’m afraid that can happen when we’re busy,” said Norman, jovially. “We had someone here for almost a whole day once, before we got round to interviewing him. But he was like you, you see. He kept on lying to us. If he’d just told the truth in the first place, he would never have been dragged in here.”
“This isn’t bloody funny.”
“Murder never is,” said Slater, quietly.
