by Ford, P. F.
Chapter 16
‘I wondered how long it would take you to get here,’ said Rippon, with a big smile, when they caught up with him later.
They were back from Hatton House and had tracked him down to the bar at the Station Hotel. It hadn’t really taken much tracking – the man seemed to live at his corner table in the bar. He’d obviously been back long enough to shower and get changed and he appeared relaxed and refreshed while Slater and Norman were still in the same clothes they’d been wearing at Hatton House. For once, Slater thought, ruefully, Norman looked the tidier of the two.
‘Why were you running away from us?’ he demanded.
‘I wasn’t running away from anyone,’ said Rippon. ‘I was out jogging along the towpath. I decided to run through the woods and I was just heading back when I saw you. I thought you wanted a race.’
‘Come on, Rippon. Cut the bullshit,’ said Norman. ‘You went out there to check out Hatton House. You were there for the same reason we were. You think there’s a link to Mr Winter and his story. But we think this could also lead us to his killer, so wouldn’t it be in both our interests to share what we know?’
‘It seems I know a whole lot more than you lot,’ said Rippon. ‘It strikes me I’d be the one doing all the sharing, not you two.’
‘You do a lot of running, do you?’ asked Slater, doubtfully.
‘I told you I did, but you didn’t believe me.’ Rippon smiled. ‘I do marathons mostly, including London every year, and half a dozen others. I’d never win any medals at the Olympics, but I can usually get round in under three hours.’
Slater was both surprised and impressed. That was a pretty good time for a man in his late forties. He knew he certainly couldn’t get anywhere near a time like that.
‘I thought most London runners do it for charity,’ he pointed out.
‘What makes you think I don’t?’ asked Rippon.
‘You don’t look the charitable type.’
‘Never judge a book by its cover. You, of all people, should know that, Sergeant.’
‘Charities like who?’
‘Great Ormond Street Hospital when I’m doing London,’ said Rippon. ‘I’ve got half a dozen smaller children’s charities I support, too. If you don’t believe me, look on my website. I don’t make a big deal about it, but you’ll find them listed under my other interests.’
Slater wasn’t sure he was convinced, and a glance at Norman told him he wasn’t the only one.
‘I know.’ Rippon laughed, holding up his hands. ‘It’s hard to believe isn’t it? I pride myself in being a true contradiction. Complete hard-case arsehole at work, but with a soft centre, especially where kids are concerned.’
‘So, if there is a soft centre, as you say,’ said Norman, ‘can I appeal to it for help in solving what appears to be the murder of a lonely little old man?’
‘I’ll help you, if you help me.’
‘But you said know more than we do,’ said Slater.
‘At the moment,’ agreed Rippon. ‘But there’s going to come a point where you know more than me. If this is what I think it is, we’re sitting on one very big story, and I want it all to myself.’
‘Is this where the hard-case arsehole comes into it?’ asked Slater.
Rippon smiled an evil smile.
‘This is a cut-throat business, Mr Slater. People will tell you I’m a nasty piece of work and I’m selfish. Those people only know me at work. If you want to succeed at this job, you have to be ruthless, and I am. Very. Do I feel bad about that? Sometimes, yes I do. Perhaps helping kids is how I make up for it.’
Slater had to admit the man seemed to be surprisingly honest, but even so, he had his reservations. He looked at Norman who shrugged his shoulders.
‘Look. You don’t trust me, right?’ asked Rippon. ‘I can understand that. It goes with the job. I don’t find it easy to trust people myself. So here’s the deal. As a gesture of good faith I’ll give you some of what I know, and we’ll take it from there. What do you say?’
Slater looked at Norman again.
‘We could do with the help,’ admitted Norman.
‘I suppose it couldn’t do any harm,’ agreed Slater. ‘Okay,’ he said, turning to Rippon. ‘So what have you got?’
‘I haven’t got much more than you lot really,’ he began. ‘But maybe I’m just a bit more observant.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Slater.
‘Well, we both think there’s a big story here, and we’ve figured out Hatton House is involved. I’m assuming you know it was an orphanage way back, and that Mr Winter bought it back in the nineties, but did you know he then set up a trust fund to own and maintain it?’
‘So that must be where all his money’s gone,’ said Slater, trying to hide his surprise at this news. ‘But I’m not sure I’d say it’s being maintained very well.’
‘That would depend on how you define “maintain”,’ said Rippon, quietly.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Slater, puzzled.
‘You’re the detective. You think about it,’ said Rippon, sounding irritated. ‘I’m not going to do all your work for you.’
It looked for a moment as though he was going to withdraw his assistance and stop talking, but then he started again.
‘You’re probably also aware he had a sister when he went into the orphanage, but she never came out again, right? So, what happened to her?’
‘According to his solicitor, Mr Winter swore she’s still alive, but claimed he didn’t know where she is,’ said Norman.
‘Oh, really?’ said Rippon. ‘Do you believe that?’
‘To be honest, we’re not sure what to believe,’ said Slater. ‘But so far, we’ve no reason to think otherwise.’
‘He never actually told me anything about his sister,’ said Rippon. ‘I suppose that would have come after he decided to trust me.’
He thought for a few moments before continuing. He was obviously trying to decide if he should share any more with them.
‘But maybe that was a good thing. If I’d known she was supposed to be missing, I might not have made the connection at the funeral,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll find the story about his sister being missing is a red herring.’
‘What connection at the funeral?’ asked Slater. ‘And why is it a red herring?’
‘Didn’t you see the little old lady who was hovering around at the funeral?’
‘Well, yeah,’ said Slater. ‘But she’s just a bag lady. I did try to find her after, but she disappeared. I figured she was just being nosey or looking for shelter.’
‘She’s very good at that disappearing thing,’ said Rippon. ‘She did it this morning when I found her just before you two arrived.’
‘So you’re saying you think she’s the missing sister?’ asked Norman. ‘Are you sure?’
‘No, I’m not sure. But it’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? First she turns up at his funeral, then I track her down to a big house that he owns. And she’s obviously been living there for a long time.’
‘But if he knew she was there, why does he say she’s missing?’ asked Slater.
‘Why do you think?’ said Rippon. ‘It’s obvious. She doesn’t want to be found, and he’s helping her to stay hidden.’
‘So how did you find out where she was hiding?’ asked Norman.
‘I did what you lot should have done.’ Rippon smiled smugly. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye out for her. I watched where she went and I followed her.’
Slater felt somewhat chastened. He’d had the chance to follow the old woman, but she had outwitted him and vanished. Yet somehow Rippon had managed it.
‘So what did she say when you spoke to her?’ he asked.
‘Ah, now that’s where we have a problem. She wouldn’t say anything to me, and she took off as soon as she got the chance. The thing is, she’s probably spent years preparing for the day when someone comes looking for her. She knows those woods like
the back of her hands. I bet she’s got some great hiding places right where we were and we’d never spot them in a million years.’
‘I wonder why she’s hiding?’ said Slater, to no one in particular.
‘I’ve worked on stuff like this before,’ said Rippon. ‘That’s why Mr Winter came to me in the first place, I think. I’ve done two or three stories about old orphanages and how they were used as places to abuse kids. My suspicion is that this was one of those places, and it’s possible his sister, your bag lady, is one of those abused kids. Maybe she knows something someone would rather she didn’t know.’
‘You’re making a lot of assumptions, don’t you think?’ asked Norman.
‘Maybe,’ conceded Rippon, looking pointedly at Slater. ‘But perhaps that’s better than asking lots of stupid questions, don’t you think?
‘Whether I’m right or wrong, I’ll tell you this much – when that woman saw me she was bloody terrified. Now, I know I’m not blessed with good looks, but I don’t usually frighten people just by looking at them. I think she was frightened because I’m a man. I’ve seen it before, and I’d put money on it. If you’re thinking you might like to speak to her, and I can see why you need to, I’d suggest you send a woman.’
‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to get Jane to talk to the old dear, would it?’ Slater asked Norman as they headed back. ‘Or would it be wrong to let someone like Rippon tell us how to do our jobs?’
‘He didn’t exactly tell us what to do,’ said Norman. ‘He just made a suggestion. And frankly, if he’s right about her being frightened of men, we’d just be wasting our time.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ agreed Slater. ‘But I think you should go with her.’
‘Me? Why me?’
‘Because someone has to go with her, and you have a much better bedside manner than me. You can keep out of the way when she tries talking to the old girl, but if you do have to get involved you can do the “gentle approach” without thinking.’
‘Well, I do have a lot more patience than you, that’s for sure,’ agreed Norman. ‘And I quite like wearing this gear.’ He indicated his clothes. ‘It’s much more comfortable than a suit.’
‘Maybe you should work for the parks department,’ suggested Slater. ‘Then you could wear jeans all the time.’
Norman was clearly so used to Slater taking a dig at his dress sense that he was oblivious to it. The insult sailed harmlessly over his head, seemingly unnoticed.
‘Oh, and go in by the towpath,’ added Slater. ‘I don’t think she ever uses the front way, and I reckon she can probably see anyone coming from the front of the house long before they get anywhere near her hideout.’
They drove on for a couple of minutes in silence before Slater spoke again.
‘Do I really ask a lot of stupid questions?’
‘I think you sometimes speak your thought process out loud,’ said Norman.
‘So I do ask a lot of stupid questions, is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. The way you think things through is by working your way through a series of questions, and sometimes those questions are obvious. There’s nothing wrong with that. The thing is you sometimes say them out loud, in front of people who don’t know how you think.’
‘And I come across as stupid,’ finished Slater.
‘You’re just vocalising your thoughts,’ explained Norman, clearly struggling to get his point across. ‘And the thinking you’re vocalising isn’t stupid thinking, it’s thorough thinking. You’re not frightened to ask the obvious, and you prove again and again that you’re anything but stupid. Trust me, if people think you’re stupid they’re making a big mistake.
‘Look at me. People think I’m stupid because I’m fat, and because I don’t seem to care what I look like. That’s fine by me, because I know I’m not stupid and I don’t give a shit what people think. I use it to my advantage to catch crooks. It doesn’t matter if people sometimes think you’re stupid, all that matters is that you know you’re not stupid.’
‘Wow,’ said Slater after a few moments thought. ‘There you go again with your positive thinking stuff.’
‘Dolly Parton once said she doesn’t mind if people think she’s a dumb blonde,’ finished Norman, ‘because she knows she ain’t dumb, and she knows she ain’t blonde. You could do a lot worse than think that way. You know you’re good at what you do, and that’s all that matters. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Right?’
He looked across at Slater.
‘Right, I’ve got it.’ Slater grinned back at him. ‘I ain’t dumb, and I ain’t blonde.’
‘What does this little old woman look like?’ asked Jolly, when they told her what she and Norman would be doing next morning.
‘Looks like a little old bag lady,’ said Slater, picturing her at the church. ‘Quite small, long white hair and a dirty off-white coat tied up with string.’
‘That sounds like Florence,’ said Jolly.
‘You know her?’ exclaimed Slater.
‘Everyone knows Florence, don’t they?’ asked Jolly, looking expectantly at the two detectives.
Slater’s mouth was agape.
‘Or perhaps not,’ she said. ‘But then you two don’t pound the beat, do you?’
‘No one pounds the beat these days, Jane,’ said Slater.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘Those of us who patrol the streets on early shift probably see Florence once or twice a month. She tends to walk through the town in the early morning, before everyone else is up and about.’
‘Where does she come from and where does she go?’ asked Norman.
‘I don’t think anyone knows. She just seems to walk the streets.’
‘Hasn’t anyone ever asked her?’
‘I’m afraid she doesn’t like the uniform,’ said Jolly. ‘So if you do stop she won’t talk.’
‘Do you know why?’ asked Slater.
‘Afraid not,’ Jolly said, smiling. ‘And I can’t ask-’
‘Because she won’t talk to the uniform,’ finished Norman.
‘Exactly. She doesn’t do any harm, so we leave her alone. The only person who seems to be able to communicate with her is the baker’s wife. She sometimes gives her a loaf of bread.’
‘But she must be eighty if she’s a day,’ she added after a pause. ‘She’s too old to be Mr Winter’s little sister.’
‘I dunno,’ said Slater. ‘I thought he looked twenty years older than he actually was. Maybe it’s in the genes. Talk to that baker’s wife and see what she can tell you about her.’
‘As luck would have it, I’m going to be escorting you tomorrow, Jane.’ Norman grinned at her when Slater had finished talking. ‘But I want you to promise you won’t take advantage of me.’
‘That’s a promise I shall find very easy to keep.’ She smiled sweetly.
‘Oh, and don’t bring your best clothes,’ said Norman. ‘Dress for the great outdoors.’
‘Well obviously I’m not going to wear uniform if I want to get her to talk, am I?’ said Jolly. Then she rolled her eyes in mock horror. ‘You know I never thought I’d be taking fashion advice from you.’
‘Just pin your ears back,’ Norman said, grinning. ‘Watch and learn. Why d’you think they used to call me Joe Cool?’
‘Oh come on, Norm,’ Slater said chuckling and shaking his head. ‘No one could possibly ever have had any reason to call you Joe Cool.’
Chapter 17
It was a pleasant enough walk along the old towpath at the Canal Street end, and Norman thought it was easy to see why the spot had become so popular since it had been cleaned up. There were even a few ducks paddling up and down in anticipation of a bread handout. Norman and Jolly were both carrying rucksacks with food and one or two goodies that they were hoping would win Florence over, but they didn’t have time to stop and feed the ducks or enjoy the views.
‘So what did the baker’s wife tell you about the bag lady?’ asked Norman, a
s they walked along.
‘Florence,’ corrected Jolly. ‘She’s a real person. Her name’s Florence.’
‘Okay, sorry. What did the baker’s wife tell you about Florence?’ said Norman, contritely.
‘Not much really. She said Florence comes into town once or twice a week, always in the early hours, which she thinks she does to avoid other people. She started giving her a little food parcel a couple of years ago, but in all that time she’s never actually managed to befriend her. And Florence always retreats if her husband appears.’
‘That confirms what Geoff Rippon said. He reckons she’s terrified of men.’
‘Apparently all Florence ever says is “have you seen Dougal?”’ added Jolly.
‘Who’s Dougal?’ asked Norman.
‘She has no idea. It could be a person, or a lost dog. Who knows?’
‘Have you ever heard of The Magic Roundabout?’
‘Wasn’t that a children’s TV series?’ asked Jolly. ‘A bit before my time I’m afraid. Why do you ask?’
‘It was late 60s and early 70s,’ said Norman. ‘It was intended for kids really, but it became something of a cult. I’m pretty sure Dougal, Dylan, and Florence were characters. It just seems a bit of a weird coincidence, that’s all.’
‘Were they all people?’
‘If I remember right,’ said Norman, thinking hard, ‘Dylan was a sort of hippie rabbit, Florence was a little girl, and Dougal was a dog. They all finished up on the roundabout at the end of every episode I think.’
‘Wow. Sounds amazing,’ said Jolly, derisively.
‘You had to be there,’ Norman said, smiling nostalgically.
‘But how does it fit in here?’
‘It probably doesn’t. It just seems a bit of a coincidence.’
They stopped as they reached the point where the path clearing had stopped. From here on, it was going to be a matter of working their way through weeds and brambles.
‘This trail must be the route Florence follows in and out of town,’ said Norman, indicating a faint trail that seemed to wind its way through the undergrowth. ‘It’s going to have to be single file from here on.’
