by Ford, P. F.
Lindy glared in his direction.
“What are you talking about? You think I murdered someone?”
“Not one,” he said firmly. “But two. Possibly even three – one of whom was just a little girl of five.”
“And you can prove this, can you?” She laughed, shaking her head. “You must be out of your mind.”
“Me out of my mind?” said Slater. “You’re the one who’s laughing about a double murder, not me.”
“This is ridiculous. You can’t prove anything.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe Sandra hadn’t run away?” asked Norman.
“What do you mean?” she said.
“I’ll spell it out, shall I?” he said. “Did it ever occur to you that she might have been murdered?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean... Well, I guess it did occur to me, but I suppose I just chose to ignore that idea. He seemed so genuinely upset about her leaving.”
“You mean Bressler? But why would he murder them?” Slater asked. “Why go to all that trouble when he could simply have divorced Sandra?”
“How could he do that?” Lindy looked at Slater as if he was stupid. “She would never have let him get away with it. They had a child. She would have taken him to the cleaners to provide for that child.”
“On the contrary,” said Slater. “The child would have been his grounds for divorce. She wasn’t his daughter. Sandra had an affair of her own and she got pregnant.”
“No,” said Lindy. “That can’t be right. You’re lying. He would have told me. And he would never have accepted that.”
“DNA tests don’t lie, Lindy,” Slater said, sighing. “And when we asked him, he admitted he’d known all along.”
“No,” she said. “No way would he have accepted such a betrayal, even from her.”
“But he did accept it,” said Norman. “You see, whatever line he might have spun you at the time, it was Sandra he really wanted, not you. He didn’t love you, he loved her. In fact, I think she’s the only woman he’s ever really loved. You were just his ‘bit on the side’ which, of course, you still are.”
“Of course he loved me.” Lindy glared at them, her face crimson. “He’s always loved me. That’s why he still carries on seeing me.”
“So why aren’t you the one sharing his house?” asked Slater. “Why hasn’t he married you? Why does he keep you out in the country hidden away from everyone?”
“If he loved her, why did he kill her?” she shouted, and Slater saw she was getting hysterical now.
“Oh,” said Slater. “So now you know he killed her. And how did he do that?”
“He attacked them with an axe,” she screamed.
There was a sudden silence.
“Really?” Slater spoke quietly.
“Okay. Let’s have it your way,” said Norman. “Maybe Bressler did kill them, even though he had no motive for doing so. But you know what? I think you were in on it right from the start. You conspired with him to murder Sandra and Rose.”
“I didn’t.” She spat the words out. “It was him.”
“You look tired. I think you need to spend some time in one of our guest rooms,” Slater said, clapping his hands together. “It’ll give you time to decide which story you’re going to run with.”
“You can’t do this.”
“Oh, he can,” Norman assured her. “And so can I. But don’t think you’re special; it’s an invitation we usually extend to all our murder suspects.”
“I haven’t murdered anyone. I’m innocent.”
“Yeah. That’s what they all say,” said Norman.
“I want a solicitor.”
“The duty solicitor’s really busy right now. But we’ll see if we can find another one for you. In the meantime, you can go and cool down.”
“It’ll be a chance for you to get used to the conditions,” said Slater. “I’m afraid the view’s crap, unless you’re about eight feet tall, and the food’s not up to much.”
“And, believe me, the tea’s like shite,” Norman said, grimacing. “And, thinking about it, the mattresses aren’t up to much either. And you won’t find any spare pillows or blankets. But the company can be really entertaining, especially if you’re here overnight and we get a lot of drunks in.”
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Lindy was shouting now, glowering at Norman.
“If you mean ‘am I enjoying locking up a murderer’, then yes, I am,” Norman said, cheerfully. “It’s always better when you enjoy your job, don’t you think?”
“You fat bastard.” Her words were loaded with venom.
“That’s an evil temper you have, Lindy,” said Slater, opening the door. “We’ll add it your murderer’s CV.”
He called in the PC who had been waiting outside.
“Get some help and take this woman away,” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” she said.
Chapter 37
It was almost 2pm before Bressler’s solicitor finally told Norman he and his client were ready to resume the interview.
A small, wiry man, Trevor Bastion was well known to the Tinton police as a fierce, but fair, defender of his clients. He didn’t go out of his way to be awkward, but he was a stickler for the rules, and would speak up any time he thought the police were overstepping the mark. Norman knew he and Slater would have to tread carefully to stay on the right side of him, so he intended to offer him the respect he was due.
They had barely sat down and finished the introductions before there was a knock on the door. Norman couldn’t believe it. He’d specifically said no interruptions. There was another knock. Whoever it was obviously didn’t intend to go away.
“I’m sorry about this,” Slater said, looking embarrassed.
Norman climbed to his feet and opened the door just enough to stick his head through. A nervous young PC was hopping up and down outside.
“This had better be damned good,” hissed Norman. “We’re trying to interview a murder suspect.”
“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. But the duty sergeant insisted it was very important,” mumbled the PC. He thrust a sheet of paper at Norman, and then stepped back hastily, almost as if he expected Norman to suddenly bite him.
Norman looked at the sheet of paper. He read it, and then read it again. He reached out and patted the PC on the arm
“Okay, son,” he said to the PC. “The duty sergeant was right. Thank you for bringing this down. I’m sorry I snapped your head off.”
“Oh. Right,” said the PC, now visibly more relaxed.
“You get along. I’ll deal with this now,” said Norman, backing into the room and closing the door. He passed the sheet of paper to Slater, and then addressed Bastion and Bressler.
“Err, something really important has come up, Mr Bastion, Mr Bressler,” he said. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to suspend this interview for a while.”
Bressler’s face showed a small sign of relief at being given a reprieve.
“I hope the need for this delay is relevant to this inquiry,” said Bastion, addressing Slater. The implied threat was that he would be raising merry hell if it wasn’t.
“It certainly is, Mr Bastion,” said Slater. “I think you know us well enough to know we don’t mess you about. I just have to take a phone call and I’ll be right back. Fifteen minutes, tops. I’ll see you get tea while you’re waiting.”
Bastion made a big deal out of displaying his wristwatch.
“I agree to a 15-minute break,” he said. “But the clock’s ticking already.”
Slater ran up the stairs to the incident room. He could hear Norman puffing behind him.
“What the hell is Jolly doing at Gatwick?” he asked.
“Showing some initiative?” Norman could barely speak, and when Slater turned back, he saw Norman had stopped. He was about to stop and wait for him, when Norman waved a hand.
“I’ll…catch…you…up,” Norman panted.
Slater rushed on, charging through the
doors into the incident room. A small light flashed at his phone to indicate a call waiting.
“Hello?” He snatched up the phone, excitedly.
“Hello, Sir,” said Jane Jolly.
“What are you doing at Gatwick?” asked Slater. “Why aren’t you here?”
“I managed to track down Lindy’s niece,” she said.
“I thought she was away on holiday.”
“She flies out any minute now.” Slater could hear the airport tannoy in the background. “She’s been staying with friends for a couple of days and they’re all flying out today. So I used my initiative, and arranged to speak to her before she flies out. So here I am.”
Just as Norman had said, thought Slater.
“Has anyone told you you’re amazing, PC Jane Jolly?” he said.
“That’s what my husband says when I-” she began, then stopped suddenly. “But you don’t want to know about that.”
“No, you’re right. You’ll make me blush,” Slater said, smiling.
“Anyway it was worth the journey,” she said, changing the subject. “Do you want to hear it?”
“I’d better,” said Slater. “We were just going to start interviewing Bressler again. Trevor Bastion’s not amused that we’ve been interrupted already.”
“Then I’m just in time,” said Jolly. “You’re going to love this…”
Almost exactly 15 minutes after they had stopped the interview, Slater and Norman re-entered the room. Slater knew he was looking particularly smug, and Bressler looked a bit concerned.
“Have you ever met Lindy Fellows’ niece?” asked Slater, once they were ready to resume.
“I didn’t even know she had a niece,” said Bressler. “I’ve certainly never met her and she never talks about her.”
“Melanie,” continued Slater. “She graduated from Cambridge last year. Languages. First class degree with honours. Lindy has a photo of her on graduation day.”
“Clever girl,” said Bressler, admiringly. “But I don’t see what that’s got to do with me.”
“She’s pretty, too,” said Norman. “With beautiful, curly, ginger hair. She’s about the same age Rose would have been, if she was still alive.”
“I still don’t see what any of this has to do with me,” said Bressler, clearly getting annoyed.
“Sergeant,” said Trevor Bastion, menacingly. “I thought you wanted to ask questions about a possible murder.”
“There’s no possible,” interrupted Norman. “It’s definitely a murder.”
Bastion looked at Norman in distaste.
“Let’s not split hairs,” he said. “I fail to see why you’re asking my client about someone’s niece. Either get to the point, or we’re out of here.”
“Okay,” said Slater. “It’s like this. On the day Sandra and Rose disappeared, a taxi driver collected a young woman, a little girl, and some suitcases from your house, Mr Bressler, and took them to Gatwick airport. The assumption made by everyone at the time was that this was Sandra and Rose.”
“Yes, yes,” said Bastion, impatiently. “We know all that. They were heading off into the sunset.”
“That’s what we were all supposed to think back then.” Slater nodded. “But that was before we found their bodies buried in a shallow grave at the Haunted Copse. Now we’ve found the bodies and made some proper enquiries, we’re beginning to see things a little differently. You see, we got to thinking it would be a bit strange for a murderer to let them fly away, kill them, and bring them back here to bury. It makes no sense.”
He let Norman take up the story.
“Then we thought, suppose they never actually left. Suppose they were murdered here, and then someone else who looked like Sandra, with a little girl who looked like Rose, called a taxi to make everyone think they’d run away. All you’d need is a nice looking blonde, say like Lindy Fellows, and a pretty little ginger-haired girl, aged about five, like Lindy’s niece.
“Sandra and Rose had only just moved to the area, so the taxi driver wouldn’t know them well enough to give a good description. But as long as he was asked if he remembered a nice looking blonde, and a little girl with ginger hair, that’s going to be good enough for the purpose of our murderer. And sure enough, that’s what the original inquiry asked him.”
“No. This can’t be true,” Bressler began.
“Say nothing.” Bastion snapped.
Slater smiled at Bastion, seeing he was cottoning on to what their end game was. What else could he advise Bressler to do?
“The thing is,” Slater continued. “We now know the blonde and the little girl that got in that taxi weren’t Sandra and Rose. We know that from the little details we managed to get from the removals company and the taxi driver.
“Yes, the two women looked alike, but one was nice and friendly, the other was anything but. One little girl was very shy, hardly said a word, and had long straight hair. The other was a real live chatterbox with a mass of ginger curls.”
“It was a long time ago,” said Bressler. “They could easily be mistaken.”
“That’s right,” said Norman. “They could easily be mistaken. But then we spotted the photograph at Lindy’s house.”
“What photograph?”
“The one of her niece. Her graduation photo.”
“I still don’t know this photograph you keep on about,” said Bressler.
Slater placed the photo, complete with frame, on the table. Bressler looked at it, and then looked up at them in surprise. It was obvious from the look on his face that he had genuinely never seen it before.
“I promise you I’ve never seen this before in my life.”
“You’re absolutely sure?” asked Slater.
“Sergeant,” warned Bastion. “My client has already said, more than once, that he is unaware of the existence of this girl, and that he’s never seen this photograph before. If you’re not going to believe anything he says, there’s no point in going on with this interview.”
“I’m sorry to keep on Mr Bastion,” Slater said. “But I’m sure you’ll understand why when I tell you this girl recalls spending a day with her Aunt Lindy at a big house near Tinton.
“She remembers how Lindy had lots of bags packed. She clearly remembers how a taxi came to collect them and take them to Gatwick airport. She remembers it vividly because she thought she was going to fly away on holiday. That’s what her Aunt Lindy had promised. But, in fact, they spent about 20 minutes wandering around the airport, changed their clothes, and then went back outside to get a different taxi back to Aunt Lindy’s house.”
“This can’t be true,” said Bressler, looking horrified. “You’re mistaken. These people have got it wrong. Lindy wouldn’t have done that to me.”
“But didn’t you dump her to go back to Sandra?” said Norman. “Remember, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
Bastion’s eyes narrowed. Slater thought he was probably about to call for a timeout for his client.
“Melanie says she remembers it so well because she’s never been so disappointed in her life,” Slater said quickly, before the solicitor could speak.
He looked at Bressler, waiting for him to say something.
“What do you say to that, Mr Bressler?” prompted Norman.
“He’s saying nothing,” said Bastion. “And I’d like some time with my client now, in private.”
“I think we’re okay with that,” said Slater, looking at Norman, who nodded his assent. “We could do with a break anyway. I’ll get some tea sent down.”
Norman breathed in deeply. The smell of bacon sandwiches and hot coffee filled the canteen. He, Slater, Biddeford, and Ashton had gathered to discuss the progress so far, and their strategy for the upcoming, resumed interviews.
They had already decided to allow Biddeford to continue interviewing Rodgers, but with Ashton as support. It was a compliment to the way Biddeford had conducted the interview so far.
Norman could see Slater’s resentment for B
iddeford appeared to be fading, but he couldn’t be sure if this was a genuine softening of attitude, or if it was simply the case that Slater was being very professional. He knew Biddeford hoped it was the former.
“So where exactly are you with Rodgers and his smuggling?” Slater asked Biddeford.
“To be honest,” said Biddeford. “We’ve hardly mentioned the smuggling. That’s almost become a side issue. We sort of focused on the murders, didn’t we?”
He looked across the table to Norman, who nodded his agreement.
“Yeah.” Norman swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “He’s protesting his innocence, of course, but even he can see there’s plenty of reason for the finger of suspicion to be pointing his way.”
“But something doesn’t add up.” Biddeford looked slightly puzzled. “He admits Sandra came to his gym before she moved down here, and he admits her membership was transferred to Tinton, but then he says he never saw her again. He claims all he knows is what he read in the paper when she disappeared.”
“How’s he coming across?” asked Slater. “Still the big I am?”
“He was quite confident when we were talking about 15 years ago,” said Biddeford. “But when we got to Sarah and recent events he sort of fell apart. I think he’s terrified of something, and he knows flexing those big muscles isn’t going to get him out of whatever mess he’s in.”
“Have you found anything to link him with Bressler or Fellows?” asked Slater.
“Not a sausage.” Norman shook his head sadly. “Apart from the admission he flies odd jobs collecting antiques.”
“And Bressler’s confirmed that,” said Slater, thoughtfully. “I’ll get Jolly to check that out later, but they’re so open about it that part must be true.”
“Has Rodgers seen the solicitor yet?” asked Norman.
“First thing this afternoon,” said Biddeford. “It’ll be interesting to see how he has advised his new client.”
“So how do you want to play it today, Steve?” asked Slater.
“A change of tack might be interesting,” Biddeford said. “We focused his attention onto the murders last night, and that’ll be on his mind now. But I’m sure whatever he’s scared of is related to more recent events.
