Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set One

by Ford, P. F.

  ‘I come bearing gifts from afar,’ he announced, placing the tray carefully on Slater’s desk before adding, ‘Well, from the canteen, anyway.’

  ‘So how did the PM go?’ asked Slater.

  ‘It was grisly, gory, and generally uncomfortable,’ said Norman.

  ‘Did you learn anything new?’

  ‘I learnt I don’t like watching post-mortems, but I already knew that,’ said Norman. ‘But that’s not what you mean, right?’

  Slater nodded patiently. No one enjoyed PMs so he was prepared to accept Norman’s need to joke about it.

  ‘There was no water in her lungs, so she didn’t drown. It looks like she was killed by a heavy blow to the back of her head and then dragged to the canal and thrown in. Time of death is a bit hazy because of the effects of the cold and being in the canal overnight, but they reckon between 4pm and 7pm the day before we found her, so she’d been in there about 24 hours when we found her.’

  ‘No real surprises there then,’ said Slater. ‘Did they say what they thought the murder weapon was?’

  ‘That old favourite, the blunt instrument,’ said Norman. ‘A baseball bat would fit the bill, but they couldn’t be sure. I’ve asked the guys to try searching the canal a bit further afield, but don’t hold your breath.’

  ‘Are they doing a DNA comparison to Winter?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Norman. ‘I always thought she might be too old, but she was much younger than she looked. I guess that’s what being in hiding and living rough does for you. According to the pathologist she was in her late sixties, so that would be about right. She has to be his sister.’

  ‘Talking of sisters,’ said Slater, ‘we forgot one of us was supposed to be at Hunter’s this morning.’

  ‘Crap!’ said Norman. ‘Did she turn up?’

  ‘Apparently she’s decided she’s not his sister, after all,’ said Slater, sighing. ‘She’s not coming now.’

  ‘Really? Why’s she suddenly got cold feet?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s what I’d like to know. It’s not right is it?’

  ‘Did she know we were going to be waiting for her?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Not unless Hunter told her, but it was his idea, so why would he do that? Anyway he says he didn’t.’

  ‘Oh well, if she got cold feet it’s one less problem to resolve,’ said Norman, optimistically.

  ‘Or it’s whole new problem altogether,’ replied Slater, ominously.

  ‘Is that what you think?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Something’s not right,’ said Slater. ‘I know it, but I just can’t put my finger on it.’

  ‘Stop thinking about it and it’ll come to you eventually,’ said Norman.

  He turned to Jolly.

  ‘So how are we doing on these searches?’

  ‘Most of the people on this staff list would be in their eighties or even older,’ she said. ‘If they were still alive. It seems the mortality rate is pretty high. I haven’t found anyone who’s still alive yet. I haven’t even got started on the search for Hatton House records.’

  ‘What about you?’ Norman asked Slater. ‘Any luck with your list of possible abusers?’

  ‘I seem to have the same problem as Jane,’ he replied. ‘Everyone’s dead.’

  ‘All except the main man,’ said Norman. ‘Doesn’t that seem a little strange? Or is it just me?’

  ‘I didn’t know Jane was having the same issue. But it seems unlikely that everyone would be dead, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What about causes of death?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Natural. In their sleep mostly,’ said Jolly.

  ‘Me too,’ said Slater. ‘Two of mine had cancer. Neither was terminal, yet they both died.’

  ‘Now that looks like a whole inquiry in itself,’ said Norman.

  ‘I don’t think we can get side-tracked on that now,’ said Slater. ‘We don’t have the resources.’

  ‘Nah. You’re right. But it’s something we should maybe flag up at a later date.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ said Slater, ‘I thought we should check out our favourite journalist, but when I called the Station Hotel they told me he’d gone back to London for a few days. So I called his London office and they confirmed he’s been up there for the past three days. But he’s due back this afternoon. I thought we could call in on our way home.’

  ‘What about his young accomplice?’ asked Norman.

  ‘He’s got a good alibi, too. He’s out of the country,’ said Slater. ‘I already checked. It seems he was advised to take a holiday for a week or two until all this has died down.’

  ‘So that’s two suspects we can cross off the list then,’ said Norman. ‘There’s only one left really. I do like a short list!’

  ‘Rippon could always have come back down without anyone knowing,’ said Slater.

  ‘You really think so?’ Norman sounded surprised.

  ‘No, not really,’ admitted Slater. ‘We should still speak to him, but I agree Maunder looks the favourite right now.’

  ‘So why don’t we go over there tomorrow morning and rattle his cage?’ suggested Norman.

  It was five-thirty when they found Geoff Rippon sat at his usual corner table in the Railway Hotel, furiously tapping away at his laptop. If he saw them come in, he didn’t acknowledge the fact.

  ‘Evening, Geoff,’ said Slater, as he and Norman carried their pints over and settled into the chairs across the table from Rippon. He looked up, grimaced at each of them, and then returned to his laptop.

  Slater and Norman sat and waited as he hammered away furiously, enjoying the first pint they’d had together for a long while. Eventually, Rippon looked up again and glared at them.

  ‘What?’ he snapped.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Norman, raising his glass to Rippon. ‘It’s good to see you, too.’

  ‘Don’t expect me to be pleased to see you,’ said Rippon. ‘We had a deal. You were going to share information.’

  ‘I don’t think it was quite like that,’ said Slater, mildly.

  ‘You didn’t tell me you were going to let the star of my story get killed, did you?’

  ‘How d’you know about that?’

  ‘I read the bloody newspaper,’ said Rippon, angrily. ‘You should try it, perhaps then you might find out what’s going on.’

  ‘How d’you know she was a star player in your story?’ asked Norman.

  ‘You already know how I know,’ he replied. ‘It was me that told you she was old Mr Winter’s sister, wasn’t it?’

  ‘So where were you yesterday?’ asked Slater.

  ‘What? Am I a suspect?’ asked Rippon, sounding aghast. ‘Do I need an alibi?’

  ‘I just asked where you were, that’s all,’ said Slater.

  ‘If you must know, I was at my office up in London. I’ve been up there for a couple of days. You can check with my secretary.’

  ‘I will,’ said Slater.

  ‘She’ll tell you where, what times and who with.’

  ‘To be honest, Geoff,’ said Norman, ‘you’re not exactly our number one suspect, but we wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t ask. You do have a motive, and we did find that fancy trainer print of yours again.’

  ‘Only in your eyes do I have a motive,’ said Rippon. ‘Like I said before, you don’t kill the golden goose. And they sell millions of those trainers.’

  ‘I don’t think Florence would have been your golden goose,’ said Norman. ‘She didn’t live in the real world. I don’t think she would have been any more use to you, as a witness, than she would have been to us. But she didn’t deserve to die, and we were hoping you might want to help us find out who killed her.’

  ‘What makes you think I can help?’

  ‘Two reasons,’ said Norman. ‘One, the journalist in you sees a big story. We know you’ve been investigating, just like we have. Maybe you know something we don’t. Two, we know that inside that tough exterior there’s a decent human being. We think that decent human bein
g would want to see her killer caught.’

  ‘Nice speech,’ sneered Rippon. ‘But we’ve already done this and I told you what I knew, and then I got nothing out of it. Why should I think it’ll be different this time?’

  ‘We have a CD,’ said Norman. ‘We believe it’s a copy of what Mr Winter was going to give you. But we also believe someone else has a copy.’

  ‘Well if it was me I’d have written the story by now.’

  ‘We believe someone has it because they seem to be keeping one step ahead of us,’ said Slater. ‘So if we thought you had it, we would have arrested you by now.’

  He raised his glass to Rippon and took a mouthful of his beer.

  ‘We don’t drink on duty,’ said Norman. ‘This is off the record.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you this,’ said Rippon. ‘Off the record or on it: if you’ve got a CD, you’ve got a bloody sight more than I have.’

  ‘It was sent to us from a back-up service,’ said Norman.

  ‘You don’t use one of them unless you feel your security’s been compromised,’ said Rippon.

  ‘That’s what we think,’ said Slater. ‘So do you know anyone who might make him feel that way?’

  ‘The guy who the story’s about would have pretty powerful motive, don’t you think?’ Rippon looked interested and less hostile now.

  ‘Yeah, we figured that one out for ourselves,’ said Norman. ‘But is there anyone else?’

  ‘You know more than I do,’ said Rippon. ‘But if you had another copy and you wanted it kept safe, who would you leave it with? The bank, in a safety deposit box, or with your solicitor.’

  ‘But he had the back-up service set up,’ argued Norman.

  ‘Maybe he didn’t trust his solicitor or his bank,’ suggested Rippon.

  Slater pondered that as he took another sip of his beer.

  Chapter 24

  As the front door swung open, Slater got his first glimpse of Sir Robert Maunder. He was good six inches shorter than Slater but, even though he was in his eighties, he stood tall and erect, his attitude confrontational right from the start.

  ‘Sir Robert Maunder?’ said Slater, politely, producing his warrant card. ‘I’m DS Slater, from Tinton police station, and this is my colleague DS Norman.’

  Norman had been standing behind Slater, but he stepped forward at the sound of his name.

  ‘What do you want?’ snapped Sir Robert. Then he pointed a finger at Norman. ‘And what’s that idiot doing here? I specifically told them not to send him again.’

  Norman didn’t say anything; Slater knew this was probably a monumental effort on his friend’s part.

  ‘Oh. Is there a problem?’ asked Slater. ‘I’m afraid no-one told me. We’re here to discuss the findings of the inquiry into the break-in here recently.’

  ‘Surely there’s nothing to discuss,’ grumbled Maunder. ‘It was this Night Caller chap, end of story.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Slater. ‘I understand your theory, sir. But there are one or two things I need to clarify if you could spare me a few minutes.’

  ‘Clarify? What do you mean clarify?’

  ‘Perhaps if we could come in?’

  They were obviously as welcome as herpes, but after a few moments, Maunder backed into the house and opened the door to allow them in.

  ‘I’ll talk to you in the library, Slater,’ he said as they stepped inside. ‘But your “colleague” will have to wait out here in the hall. I’ve got nothing to say to him.’

  They hadn’t been expecting a warm welcome, but even so, Slater found it hard to accept such open hostility towards Norman. He thought about insisting Norman should be in on any discussion, but Norman intervened before he could speak.

  ‘That’s okay, Sir Robert,’ he said. ‘I understand. I’ll wait out here. It’s better than being outside in the cold.’

  Maunder grunted at Norman, then turned his back and led Slater through a door across the hall. Once inside, he closed the door behind them.

  ‘So what do you want to clarify, Sergeant?’ said Maunder, settling himself into the chair behind his desk. He left Slater standing, with the desk between them. The battle lines were drawn.

  ‘First off,’ said Slater, ‘forensic evidence indicates this was not the work of the Night Caller.’

  ‘Of course, it was.’ Maunder glared at him. ‘He even left his calling card. I hear he leaves it every time. And we’re just the class of people with the sort of house he would target.’

  ‘I can’t argue about the target,’ agreed Slater. ‘And I can’t argue about the card being left. The thing is, it’s not the Night Caller’s card. This card was left by someone who wanted us to think it was the Night Caller.’

  For a few brief seconds Maunder’s eyes narrowed and a trace of panic flitted across his face. It would have been easy to miss, but it was the sort of reaction Slater had been looking for.

  ‘Your people must be wrong,’ he blustered.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Slater. ‘There are very distinct differences between the card left here and the real Night Caller’s card.’

  Maunder said nothing.

  ‘How often do you forget to turn on your alarm at night?’ asked Slater.

  ‘That’s a very impertinent question. Don’t you know who I am?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I do know who you are,’ said Slater. ‘I also know how old you are, and, with respect, you wouldn’t be the first person your age to have a problem with their memory.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like what you’re suggesting, Sergeant.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything, Sir.’ Slater smiled pleasantly. ‘Maybe your wife has a problem with her memory, too.’

  Maunder’s face had turned an angry red now.

  ‘I think that’s enough innuendo and suggestion, Sergeant,’ he snapped. ‘I think perhaps you should leave.’

  As soon as the library door had closed, Norman started to look around. There were two more doors at the end of the hall, one of which was slightly ajar. He walked quietly across to it, stopped, and listened. He could hear nothing, so he gently pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  ‘Who on earth are you?’ asked a bright-eyed, sprightly looking old lady.

  Norman nearly jumped out of his skin, then quickly realised this must be Maunder’s wife.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Norman, fumbling for his warrant card. ‘I’m DS Norman. I came with my colleague to speak to your husband, but I’m afraid he doesn’t want to talk to me. I was just looking for a glass of water.’

  ‘Ah!’ She smiled at him. ‘Do come in, Sergeant. I can do better than water. I’ve just made a pot of tea, if you’d like one.’

  ‘Oh, that would be wonderful,’ agreed Norman. He already liked this woman, who seemed to be the complete opposite of her grumpy husband.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ She indicated two chairs at the kitchen table.

  ‘Thank you.’ Norman grinned at her and sat down.

  ‘So you must be the poor soul who came when we had the break-in,’ said Lady Maunder, as she fussed around finding a cup and saucer and then pouring tea for him.

  ‘That was me,’ conceded Norman.

  ‘I’m afraid my husband’s not blessed with a great deal of patience,’ she said, setting his tea down on the table, and then settling in the chair next to him. ‘In fact just recently he seems to have none at all. But he’s not a bad person, he’s just never quite managed to retire properly, if you see what I mean. He still thinks he’s the one in charge and what he says is all that matters.’

  ‘Maybe something’s bothering him,’ ventured Norman. ‘If someone’s worrying about something it can make them seriously short of patience. And I understand what you mean about not retiring properly. My dad was the same. Does Sir Robert have problems with his memory, too? That’s what used to make my dad angry.’

  ‘Oh there’s nothing wrong with his memory.’ She laughed. ‘I think it’s just that he’s so good at everything he doesn’t exp
ect anyone to disagree with him.’

  ‘It’s a shame you left your jewellery box out that night,’ said Norman. ‘It must have been sad to lose all that fabulous family stuff.’

  ‘Now that he did forget to do,’ she said. ‘I had already gone to bed. I did ask him to put it away for me when he came up, but it wasn’t part of his normal routine, you see, so I expect that’s why he forgot it. It was such a pity. Still, at least we don’t have any family to pass it on to, so no one’s going to miss it, only me.’

  ‘You have no children?’ asked Norman.

  ‘No. It obviously wasn’t meant to be.’ She sighed sadly. ‘But then if we’d had children of our own he probably wouldn’t have had time for all those orphans and the children’s charities he’s helped over the years.’

  ‘Oh really?’ said Norman. ‘I didn’t know about that.’

  ‘He never used to make a song and dance about it,’ she said, smiling fondly. ‘I think it helped him deal with the fact we had none of our own.’

  ‘It’s funny you should mention orphans,’ said Norman. ‘I’ve only just found out there was an orphanage not far from here. What was it called now…’

  ‘Hatton House,’ she answered. ‘Oh yes. Robert used to spend lots of time there. It was such a pity when it closed.’

  ‘If you really want me to leave, I will,’ Slater said to Maunder. ‘But before I go, can you tell me if you know this man?’

  He placed a photograph of Mr Winter on the desk.

  Maunder looked at the photograph, and then sat back in horror.

  ‘Good God,’ he said. ‘That’s a mortuary photograph. That man’s dead.’

  ‘I’m afraid he is, yes,’ agreed Slater. ‘Do you recognise him?’

  ‘I’ve never set eyes on him before,’ said Maunder. ‘What makes you think I would recognise him?’

  ‘I thought you might know him. After all, he sent you a letter a few weeks ago.’

  ‘What makes you think he sent me a letter?’

  ‘We found a copy,’ said Slater.

  ‘I think you’re mistaken, Sergeant Slater.’ Maunder’s voice had taken on a menacing tone.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ agreed Slater, with a condescending smile. ‘Us modern-day coppers have got no idea what we’re doing. Not like it was back in your day, eh? Sir.’