by Ford, P. F.
‘I think you need to tell me about this, don’t you Mr Ferguson?’
‘It’s a bit late now, son. You couldn’t do anything about it back then, and it’s way too late to do anything about it now.’
‘So you knew about the child abuse back then?’
‘I already told you I don’t know anything,’ said Ferguson. ‘They told me if I said anything they’d tell the police about what I’d done and then I’d get put away for life.’
‘What did you do that you could get put away for life?’ asked Slater.
‘It was an accident is what it was. But they said they’d tell the police it wasn’t an accident. I didn’t know what to do, so in the end I did what they told me.’
Slater was thinking hard. They needed a statement from this man, but it had to be done properly. He was old and upset. By the time they got him to Tinton it would be getting late. He had to consider his health.
‘I think I need you to come to Tinton and make a full statement, Mr Ferguson. If I send a car, will you agree to come?’
‘I don’t think so, no,’ said Ferguson.
‘I think you have to. It’s time the record was put straight. Don’t you agree?’
‘It’s much too late for that, now,’ said Ferguson. ‘I think you should let sleeping dogs lie. I’m not coming Mr Slater. I’m sorry, but I won’t do it.’
On the way back through reception, Slater found Maggie, the kindly carer.
‘Was he alright?’ she asked. ‘Not too grumpy?’
‘He’s a bit upset,’ explained Slater. ‘Things from the past, you know. We need to take a full statement from him, but at the moment he doesn’t want to help us. I’ll give him a couple of days to think about it and then I’ll try again.’
‘He’s not in any trouble is he?’ she asked, anxiously. ‘Only he’s not well you see. He looks okay, but he’s got terminal cancer. We’re managing it, but he’s probably only got about six months left.’
‘It’s not what he’s done, Maggie. It’s what he knows about things others have done.’
‘Oh, right,’ she said. ‘Well, if he changes his mind I don’t think it will do him any harm. It’s funny, he’s been here all this time and never had a visitor, then he gets two in two days.’
‘He does?’ Slater’s curiosity was aroused. ‘Who was the other one?’
‘It was yesterday evening. It’s recorded in the book here, but it doesn’t say who the visitor was. I was off duty by then.’
‘Who was on duty?’
‘That’ll be Sheila Watts,’ said Maggie. ‘But she won’t be on duty until later.’
‘If I leave my number, do you think it would it be possible for her to call me?’ he asked.
‘Leave it with me. I’ll be handing over to her. I’ll tell her myself.’
‘Thanks, Maggie. You’re an angel,’ said Slater, smiling at her.
Chapter 27
Slater had been so busy with what he had dubbed The Magic Roundabout inquiry, it seemed to have been a long time since he had spent an uninterrupted evening together with Cindy. He had warned her right from the start that the very nature of his job meant he was always on call, but she had been quite convinced she could cope with that. He knew from painful experience, however, that saying you can cope with a situation and actually being able to cope with it, were two very different things. It was one of the reasons he had insisted they should not move in together yet. It would be much better for her, he had explained, if she didn’t feel obliged to be there waiting for him to come home.
But tonight, he had promised her on the phone earlier, she would have his undivided attention. In return, she had promised to cook dinner for him. However, she had warned him, if she was going to go to all that trouble he had to be there on time or it would spoil. If he failed to appear by 7.30pm, it would be going into the dustbin.
Taking heed of her warning, he made it back from Portsmouth with just enough time to get home, shower, change, and drive over to her house, arriving at 7.25pm bearing a chilled bottle of champagne.
‘Are we celebrating?’ she asked, when he handed her the champagne.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’re celebrating how lucky I am to have met you. Now put that bottle down and let me show you how much I’ve missed you.’
He took the bottle from her and placed it on the floor, before enveloping her in a huge hug and giving her a big wet kiss.
‘Oh! Goodness,’ she breathed into his ear. ‘This is going to have to stop right now, or dinner’s going to get ruined.’
‘I don’t care,’ he said, breathing in her wonderful smell.
‘I’m sure you don’t,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘But I’ve been slaving away for hours, and if you don’t eat now you’ll be hungry later.’
‘I’m hungry right now,’ he said, a wicked grin crossing his face.
‘We’ll get to that later, Mr Slater. I haven’t been cooking all evening so I can throw it away. Food first, afters after.’
‘I can’t wait,’ he whispered, releasing his hold on her. ‘I love afters.’
‘I’m sure you only want me for my body,’ she said, as she returned to her cooker.
‘And the cooking,’ he teased, coming up behind her and encircling her with his arms again. ‘It’s almost as good.’
‘Go and find two glasses,’ she said, flapping a tea towel at him over her shoulder. ‘And get that bottle open. Now.’
By nine o’clock, they had finished dinner, and retreated to the lounge where they had settled together on the settee to finish their champagne.
‘We need to clear up,’ Cindy said, drowsily.
‘Later,’ said Slater as he pulled Cindy close to him. ‘Let’s finish the champagne first.’
But they soon forgot all about finishing champagne and clearing up. Laying so close together, something much more urgent was beginning to capture their attention, and it was something that needed satisfying right now.
‘Do you think we should go upstairs?’ mumbled Slater as he stopped briefly to draw breath.
‘Come on then, quickly,’ whispered Cindy, huskily.
She almost dragged him from the settee and ran for the stairs. He chased after her and they fell tumbling at the foot of the stairs, exchanging more kisses, their hands all over each other.
‘No, not here,’ she said finally, breaking free and rushing up the stairs. ‘I really need you, but upstairs. Come on.’
By the time he got to her bedroom, she was already naked and slipping under the covers. He felt himself rising to the occasion as he threw off his own clothes.
‘Is that a truncheon I see, Sergeant,’ she muttered, saucily. ‘Or are you just pleased to see me with my clothes off?’
He stood to attention and saluted.
‘If you don’t behave yourself, madam,’ he said, in his best ‘Carry On film’ voice, ‘I just might have to use it.’
‘Oh, officer,’ she breathed. ‘You’d better show me what you mean.’
Slater thought he was going to burst with excitement as he slid into bed and climbed into position above Cindy’s gorgeous, waiting body.
And then his mobile phone began to ring.
‘Oh for f-’ he began to say.
‘Shhh! Ignore it,’ she pleaded, putting her finger to his lips to stifle his swearing. ‘They can leave a message. Focus on me. My need is much greater than theirs, trust me.’
The phone stopped ringing and he tried desperately hard to concentrate his attention on Cindy and give her what she needed, but it was too late; the moment was gone, and so was his ‘truncheon’.
And then the bloody phone started ringing again.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ she snapped, angrily, into his face. ‘There. I’ve said it for you now. What? Am I not supposed to swear? Or perhaps you think it’s the sole preserve of men to have the satisfaction of being able to release their frustration with some good, old-fashioned bad language. And believe me, when I say frustration I really mean frust
ration.’
Her voice had become increasingly aggressive as she delivered her speech, almost screaming and spitting with anger as she delivered the final sentence right into his face.
Slater was still in position above her, knees between hers, propped up with his hands either side of her face, and for a moment, something in his head told him how absurd the situation was. For a split second, he was close to laughing out loud, but fortunately Cindy seemed to mistake it for a grimace of discomfort rather than the grin it almost became.
And this really was no laughing matter. He had been completely unprepared for a situation like this, and he really didn’t know what to say next, or what to do next, but he didn’t need to worry. Cindy seemed to know exactly what he should do next.
‘Will you go and answer that bloody phone?’ she yelled.
‘Err, yeah. Of course,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s over there somewhere.’ He nodded his head towards his jeans, lying in a heap on the floor.
‘Well you’d better go and find it, then,’ she snapped.
Sadly, helplessly, he climbed out of bed and found his trousers. He took the phone from his pocket and slipped the trousers on.
‘Dave Slater,’ he said into the phone.
‘Sergeant Slater,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘This is Sheila Watts, from the Belmont Nursing home.’
‘Ah, right. Yes, of course,’ said Slater, remembering now.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared absently at the floor as he listened.
‘I’m sorry I’m calling so late,’ she said. ‘We had an emergency that couldn’t wait, you know.’
‘That’s okay,’ he said, thinking it really wasn’t okay, but he could hardly complain about her interrupting his sex life, could he? After all, he did leave a message asking her to call.
‘Maggie said you were interested in old Dougal’s visitor yesterday evening.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said. ‘Did the person leave a name?’
He was aware of Cindy moving around but he focused on the call.
‘Well, he signed in and out,’ she said, ‘But I think perhaps he was a doctor, or some sort of professional like that. I certainly can’t read his signature, and he didn’t bother to print his name like people are supposed to.’
Yeah, a clear signature, and printed name. That would have been way too easy, thought Slater.
‘Can you describe him, Mrs Watts?’ he asked.
‘I would say he was sixtyish,’ she said. ‘Quite nice looking, about six feet tall, with silver-grey hair. He had nice blue eyes. And he had a lovely smile,’ she said. ‘He was nice. He looked sort of kind, if you know what I mean.’
Slater thought that could be anyone, really, but it could be useful.
‘So there was nothing particularly special about him?’ he asked.
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘He had nice aftershave on. Unusual smell it was. Not one I recognised.’
‘How was he dressed, in a suit?’ asked Slater.
‘Oh, no. Casual,’ she replied. ‘Trousers, a shirt, and a sweater. Quite smart and tidy, but definitely casual.’
‘Did you see what car he was driving,’ asked Slater, hopefully.
‘No, sorry,’ she said. ‘We can’t see the car park from the reception desk. I’m sorry if I’m not being very helpful.’
‘Not at all,’ Slater lied. ‘You’ve been very helpful, and thank you for taking the time to call me.’
He ended the call. Sheila Watts hadn’t been a great deal of help really, and certainly not enough to sacrifice his sex life for, but it wasn’t her fault. The timing had been unfortunate, to say the least, but it hadn’t been deliberate. The problem was going to be explaining that to Cindy.
He got dressed properly and made his way downstairs. Cindy was in the kitchen, slamming things into the dishwasher.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said. ‘It was about this murder case. I forgot I asked that woman to call me back. I had to answer it.’
‘You didn’t have to even have it switched on,’ argued Cindy. ‘It’s supposed to be your night off. You told me I would have your “undivided attention”. Those were the words you used weren’t they?’
‘Yes,’ he said, guiltily. ‘Those were the words. And I meant it.’
‘Well, obviously that’s a lie,’ she said. ‘Or you would have switched your phone off and made sure no-one could disturb us.’
‘I didn’t lie, Cindy. To say I lied means you think I did it on purpose to deceive you. Do you really think I’d do that?’
‘I don’t know what to think right now. I hardly ever see you, and when I do I don’t know if you’re going to stay, or get dragged off at any moment. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I want to spend my life competing with your job. Do you understand?’
‘Ah. I see,’ he said. ‘It’s you or the job, is it? I did warn you right from day one, that it would be like this, didn’t I?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted, sadly. ‘But I had no idea it would be this bad.’
She began to cry. He wanted to hold her, but he stayed where he was.
‘Don’t ask me to make this choice now, Cindy. We’ve only been together a few months. I could throw my job in today, and then in a few more months find we have no future anyway.’
‘I know,’ she sobbed. ‘I know. It’s just that we never get any time together. Perhaps if we could go away for a couple of weeks.’
She looked into his face, and now he did go to her, but only to give her a consoling cuddle.
‘A couple of weeks away would be great, but the problem would still be here when we got back,’ he said. ‘I think it’s best if I go home now. You need some time to think about what it is you want. Call me when you’re ready to talk, okay?’
He left with a heavy heart. Up until now, he’d thought that if it came to it he would happily walk away from his job for Cindy, but now he knew that wasn’t the case. Perhaps she wasn’t the one after all.
Chapter 28
Jolly looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost 8.30am, and so far, there had been no sign of Slater or Norman. It wasn’t like either of them to arrive more than a few minutes after 7.30am and if they had to be somewhere else they would have called. She was beginning to wonder what could have happened to them.
Across the other side of the station, in DCI Bob Murray’s office, Murray’s temper was happening to them. They had both been called first thing this morning with a direct order from the Old Man, in person. This was unheard of.
‘Be in my office. Eight o’clock, sharp,’ had been the curt instruction. Those seven words conveyed the message loud and clear. This wasn’t a request. It was an instruction.
They didn’t need to be told why they had been summoned. Maunder had promised they would regret calling on him and it seemed he had been true to his word. For almost half an hour, they had been read the riot act, without let-up. It appeared not only Sir Robert but the chief constable and Sir Robert’s solicitor had been on to Murray, and they had obviously got their message across. Murray was now passing on that message, with bells on.
‘What on earth were you thinking, going to his house?’ he asked them, but he didn’t wait for a reply. ‘I specifically told you, Norman, to stay away from Sir Robert Maunder, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, sir,’ mumbled Norman.
‘With respect, sir,’ interrupted Slater, ‘that was my decisio-’
‘Did I ask you to interrupt?’ snapped Murray. ‘And don’t patronise me with that “with respect” rubbish. If you had any respect for anyone, we wouldn’t be having this discussion now.’
Discussion? thought Slater. That’s a laugh. They hadn’t been able to get a word in edgeways for the last half hour. And he was getting seriously pissed off with this “let’s protect Sir Robert” crap. The guy might have a knighthood but he was still crooked. Why wouldn’t any of them see it?
‘If the chief constable had his way, you two would be back directing traffic,’ warned Murray.
‘I take it you shared the decision to go and annoy Sir Robert yesterday, so whatever either of you has to say now, by way of an explanation, had better be bloody good.’
‘Oh,’ said Slater, ready for war. ‘We are actually allowed to speak, then, are we?’
‘I think it would be better for all of us if DS Norman made the excuses, and you kept quiet, Slater,’ Murray said after a moment. ‘Your lack of respect is going to make you say something you’ll regret.’
‘Yeah, but-’ began Slater.
‘You will remain silent,’ roared Murray, looking well and truly at the end of his tether. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said a seething Slater. ‘I understand.’
‘Well, that makes a change,’ said Murray.
He turned to Norman.
‘It was a joint decision, was it?’ he asked.
‘Yes sir,’ said Norman. ‘Based on the evidence we’ve uncovered we have reason to believe Sir Robert Maunder could well have been involved in child abuse back in the sixties.’
‘You do realise who this man is? He’s a knight of the realm, for goodness sake. One of the reasons he got that honour was because of his charitable work with, and for, children.’
‘Yes, we know all that, sir,’ agreed Norman. ‘But he wouldn’t be the first person to receive a knighthood and then turn out to be not quite the wonderful person everyone had thought he was.’
That’s an understatement, Slater thought.
‘And this is based on what evidence?’ Murray asked.
‘You remember Mr Winter, the old guy who seemed to have died by accident but we later found had been murdered? It turns out he grew up in an orphanage Maunder used to frequent. Mr Winter’s sister was abused on a regular basis there. Mr Winter names Sir Robert Maunder as the ringleader of the abusers. We even have a copy of a letter he sent to Sir Robert naming him as the ringleader. We think that could have been why he was murdered.’
‘Where’s this sister now?’
