Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set One

by Ford, P. F.

  ‘Is this it?’ a dismayed Slater asked Norman.

  ‘Apparently we might get some more help if the bodies can be spared,’ said Norman. ‘But don’t hold your breath.’

  ‘This is supposed to be a major incident,’ said Slater, in exasperation. ‘It’s a bloody joke.’

  ‘It is what it is. There’s no point in complaining about it.’

  ‘If they cut our budget any further, we might as well pack it in and go home. But that’s my negative head speaking, and a negative head never solves anything, right Norm?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Norman smiled at him. ‘So let’s do what we can and try to be as effective as we can.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Slater said, with a sigh. ‘Right, then,’ he began after a moment, trying to sound a whole lot more positive than he felt. ‘Has Ian Woods called back yet?’

  ‘Not so far,’ said Norman.

  ‘First job for you then, Jane. Find out where the guy lives. You’ve got his mobile number. Find the service provider and tell them we need his address, or else. You know what to do.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Jolly, smiling. ‘I’ll have it within the hour.’

  ‘You can have longer,’ said Norman. ‘We have a PM to attend at eight.’

  ‘And can you get hold of her phone records?’ asked Slater. ‘We might not have found her mobile phone, but there’s still the landline. We can start with that.’

  ‘I’ll get onto it as soon as I’ve found that address,’ she said.

  It’s a special (or perhaps strange) sort of person who enjoys watching a post mortem. It could be argued that both Slater and Norman were special in their individual ways, but neither possessed the particular quality that would allow them to watch a pathologist at work without feeling somewhat queasy.

  Dr Eamon Murphy was aware that both his guests would be much happier if they could be just about anywhere else that morning. This was his first official forensic post mortem, though, and he was determined to take his time and get it right. He had been working unofficially for Tinton police for some time, but in the past his work had always had to be overseen. Now, at last, he had been officially recognised and was deemed to be up to the required standard.

  ‘I realise neither of you would choose to be here,’ he said to his audience. ‘So I’ll try to be quick, but as it’s my first, I also want to make sure I get it right.’

  ‘In that case, as it’s your first, I’ll try not to spoil things for you by throwing up,’ said Norman.

  Murphy knew neither of them was likely to do such a thing, but he had prepared for it just in case.

  ‘I’ve laid out two bowls over there.’ Murphy pointed across the room, grinning. ‘But if you choose to use one, you have to empty it and clean up behind you.’

  ‘I think we’ll be okay, Eamon. This certainly isn’t the messiest corpse we’ve seen,’ said Slater.

  ‘It’s the slicing and dicing that always gets to me,’ confessed Norman. ‘I don’t know how you can do that.’

  ‘It’s the fascination of what a body can tell me,’ said Murphy. ‘That’s what drives me. Without the dissection it would be a bit difficult. I’m sure there are parts of your job that make people feel the same way, but you do them because it’s part of the process.’

  Silence greeted this remark.

  ‘Right, then,’ said Murphy, once he was sure Norman had finished complaining. ‘Shall we begin?’

  He removed the sheet covering Diana Woods and began his examination, dictating into a head microphone as he worked. An assistant hovered in the background ready to help whenever he was needed. After the initial examination, Murphy undid Diana Woods’ negligee. The assistant stepped forward to help him.

  ‘That’s odd,’ he said. ‘She’s still got the shop labels attached to her underwear.’

  He indicated a label hanging from the bra strap.

  ‘Who keeps the labels on their underwear?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Someone who’s just bought it and is trying it on for size?’ suggested Slater.

  ‘But she would know her own size before she went shopping,’ argued Norman. ‘And if she was in doubt, wouldn’t she try the bra on in the shop?’

  ‘Suppose they were a gift?’ said Slater. ‘Maybe someone gave them to her and guessed her size.’

  ‘It’s an expensive gift,’ said Murphy. ‘A matching set in real silk, according to this label.’

  ‘So, she likes nice underwear,’ said Norman. ‘There’s no law against it.’

  ‘It could be significant though,’ said Slater. ‘No one has mentioned a boyfriend so far, and Woody doesn’t sound like the sort of guy to buy something like this.’

  ‘Maybe he was trying to win her back.’

  Murphy and his assistant got back to work. Murphy suppressed a smile as he saw Norman pale as he got down to the real work. Norman took his phone out, muttering something about checking his emails, and stared at the screen resolutely for the next hour.

  ‘Tea, gentlemen?’ Murphy suggested after he had finished. ‘We might even have some biscuits if you’re really lucky.’

  ‘I’ll do a full report for you obviously,’ he told them a few minutes later. ‘But the gist is she was stabbed, in the back, by a flat bladed knife. Possibly the carving knife from the set in the kitchen. I would suggest the killer was probably, but not necessarily, shorter than the victim. The angle of entry would suggest the knife was pointing upwards as it entered the body, passed through the ribs, and plunged into the heart. Death would have been more or less instantaneous.’

  ‘What about time of death?’ asked Slater. ‘Is it still the same?’

  ‘I would narrow it down to between five and six pm,’ said Murphy. ‘The victim had recently had sex, but a condom was used so there were no samples to collect.’

  ‘Definitely not rape?’ asked Norman.

  ‘There’s nothing to suggest it wasn’t consensual.’

  ‘Are the two events related?’ asked Slater.

  ‘I can’t say for sure at this stage. But I think it’s probable she had sex a few hours before she was killed, so it’s unlikely they are related.’

  ‘Would it have been the night before?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Not that long before,’ said Murphy. ‘I would guess not more than four to six hours before she was killed.’

  ‘Maybe it was someone at work,’ said Norman. ‘In the broom cupboard, perhaps.’

  Murphy and Slater both looked at Norman.

  ‘What?’ he asked defensively. ‘Workplace affairs aren’t that unusual.’

  ‘Yeah, but in a broom cupboard?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Okay, so it was bad taste,’ admitted Norman. ‘But even so, we can’t ignore the possibility of a workplace affair that might have gone wrong.’

  ‘We can’t afford to rule anything out,’ conceded Slater. ‘And we do need to check out her workplace.’

  ‘Obviously blood and toxicology will take a few days,’ Murphy said. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I know.’

  He looked at Slater and Norman in turn.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘How did I do?’

  ‘It worked just fine for me,’ said Norman.

  ‘We already knew you could do the job, Eamon,’ said Slater. ‘You don’t have anything to prove to us.’

  Murphy tilted his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

  ‘That’s good to know,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Anyway, we need to get on,’ said Slater. ‘Thanks Eamon. We’ll speak soon.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s been a blast, Eamon,’ said Norman. ‘It’s a really great way to start my day. I’m really sorry I can’t stay for the encore.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ said Jolly, when they got back from the PM. ‘But I’ve taken it upon myself to have someone call on Mr Woods.’

  ‘But we need to interview him-’ began Norman.

  ‘Yes, I know that, but he lives in Wales. It would take you the best part of four hours to get there. Y
ou’d be tied up for a whole day, and we don’t even know if he’s going to be there. Can we afford to lose two thirds of our team for a day?’

  ‘Ah, right,’ said Norman. ‘When you put it like that, it’s probably not the best use of our time.’

  ‘I’ve contacted the station nearest where he lives. They’re going to send someone round to tell him his wife has died, and to tell him we need to speak to him. I’ve also asked them to report back on his reaction to the news, and to let us know what he’s going to do next.’

  ‘Sometimes I think you should be in charge here, Jane,’ said Slater. ‘We’d probably be a whole lot more organised.’

  ‘Flattery is good,’ she said, smiling, ‘but you can still go and get your own coffee and cakes.’

  ‘Am I that obvious?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Patently.’ Jolly laughed, shaking her head.

  She shuffled through her notes.

  ‘Diana Woods’ parents are coming in later. They’re going to formally identify the body. And don’t forget you still need to speak to all the residents of Bishops Common about the murder.’

  ‘We’re going back to speak to them this morning,’ said Slater. ‘And we ought to get a statement from Diana’s parents.’

  ‘I can deal with them if you’re not back,’ said Jolly. ‘If it helps.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ said Norman. ‘It would certainly help if we didn’t have to keep rushing backwards and forwards.’

  They had started from the main road and called at every house along the lane leading to Bishops Common, working towards Diana Woods’ house. Almost everyone had been at home, but so far, Slater was frustrated to admit it had been a fruitless journey. No one had seen or heard anything. There was even one homeowner who hadn’t even realised there had been a major incident further down their lane yesterday.

  ‘How could you possibly miss all those sirens and blue lights?’ Norman asked Slater, as they walked away from the house. ‘And all those vehicles?’

  ‘It’s a sign of the times. You’ve said as much yourself before now. People keep themselves to themselves and only look out for themselves.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess that’s so.’ Norman sighed. ‘I suppose they were glued to their TV set or something important like that.’

  The next house they came to was that of Amanda Hollis. She had been the last person they spoke to last night.

  ‘I suppose we’d better call in again,’ said Slater. ‘She might have thought of something new.’

  But, in fact, all Amanda Hollis wanted to do was reinforce what she had told them the previous night. As far as she was concerned, they need look no further than Diana’s husband Ian Woods. She had been over to see Laura Pettit just this morning, and they were quite convinced he was the only person in the whole world who could possibly have wanted Diana dead.

  ‘You don’t need to look any further,’ she assured them. ‘And I’ll be happy to stand up in the witness box and say whatever you need me to say to convict him.’

  Norman and Slater exchanged a look.

  ‘Hearsay isn’t proof of a crime, Mrs Hollis,’ said Slater, more patiently than he felt. ‘Perhaps you didn’t realise but we actually prefer to use facts as evidence. That way we know we’re convicting the right person.’

  ‘Well, I can assure you you’ll find we’re right,’ she said, adamantly.

  ‘Have you ever done jury service, Mrs Hollis?’ asked Norman.

  ‘That’s a strange question. No, I haven’t. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered,’ said Norman innocently. ‘I was just thinking of all the time and money we could save if everyone adopted your approach to justice.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow you.’

  ‘You don’t? Well, if I had all day free and nothing better to do, maybe I’d try and explain it to you, but we’re actually trying to solve a murder here so I’m afraid I don’t have the time right now.’

  ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Hollis,’ said Slater, stepping in front of Norman. ‘But we really must get on now.’

  ‘But what does he mean?’ she asked. ‘Is he trying to imply something?’

  ‘Good heavens, no,’ replied Slater. ‘He has a thing about the justice system and how it could be improved. Your trial by rumour suggestion would certainly speed things up. We could do away with the whole criminal justice system at a stroke. Anyway, we must go.’

  He turned and ushered Norman from the premises before he really lost it with this stupid woman. He felt Amanda Hollis’ eyes boring into his back as they walked back down the path.

  ‘Jeez,’ said Norman, when they were out of earshot. ‘Listening to that woman slagging off Ian Woods brings a whole new meaning to the expression “witch hunt”. Is she for real?’

  ‘She doesn’t exactly offer an impartial opinion, does she?’

  ‘That can’t possibly be her car in the drive,’ said Norman. ‘Surely she must be a broomstick user.’

  He looked at the next house along the lane. It was that of Diana’s next door neighbour Laura Pettit, who’d had the misfortune to discover the body yesterday.

  ‘Oh great. If those two were sharing the same cauldron this morning, I suppose we’re going to get a load more of that “it must be Woody” shit here.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ said Slater. ‘But there’s only one way to find out.’

  Half an hour later they were walking from Laura Pettit’s house.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Norman shook his head. ‘They’re almost word perfect too, as if it’s all rehearsed. You have to wonder what’s going on here. I’m almost beginning to feel sorry for this Woody guy.’

  ‘They’ve obviously put their heads together and agreed what they’re going to say,’ said Slater. ‘But even so, we can’t discount it. If what they’re saying about him is even half right, then he’s got to be in the frame.’

  ‘The only good thing to come out of this was getting Diana’s mobile number. That was good thinking on your part.’

  ‘I figured her friend had to have it. It was just a question of waiting for her to stop talking long enough for me to ask the question.’

  They walked on past the scene of the crime and stopped at the one remaining house in the lane. There had been no one home the previous night when they had called, and there was no one in this morning.

  ‘Maybe they’re away,’ suggested Norman as they headed back down the lane towards their car.

  As they walked, another car came around the bend in the lane heading towards them. The car slowed down and pulled up alongside them; its driver’s window slid smoothly down and a man’s face appeared.

  ‘Are you the police?’

  ‘DS Slater and DS Norman.’ Slater flashed his warrant card. ‘Can we help you?’

  ‘I might be able to help you.’

  The man stepped from his car, closed the door, and then leaned back against it.

  ‘My name’s John Hollis.’

  ‘Amanda’s husband?’ asked Norman.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I’m on late shift this week so I wasn’t here last night, but I believe you spoke to my wife, didn’t you?’

  ‘That’s right, we did,’ said Slater.

  ‘So you know Woody did it,’ said John Hollis with a rueful grin. ‘I’m sorry about that. I had it drummed into me all night long, if it’s any consolation. I’m afraid my wife and Laura Pettit seem to have got it in for poor old Woody.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Norman. ‘What’s he ever done to them?’

  ‘I think it’s more a case of what he didn’t do. Woody’s quiet and he’s shy, and he’d rather stand in the corner than be the centre of attention. That can make him hard to get to know, but when you do get to know him he’s a good guy, and he’s the sort who would do almost anything to help a friend. The problem is Laura wanted him to help her out in ways that he wasn’t prepared to, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘And you know this how?’ asked Slater.

 
‘I know this because he told me.’

  ‘If he’s so quiet and shy, why would he tell you about something like that?’

  ‘I’m probably one of the best friends he’s got,’ said Hollis. ‘He was actually quite upset about the whole incident, and he wanted to tell someone about it, so he told me over a few beers one night. He didn’t want to tell his wife, so who else was he going to tell?

  ‘The thing is, he only ever had eyes for Diana. There was no way he was interested in any other woman, so Laura got the cold shoulder. Ever since she’s been waging this campaign to convince everyone Woody’s some sort of shit and the world’s worst husband. If he was an astronaut, up there in space, orbiting the moon now, she would still tell you he had done it.’

  ‘So why would your wife have it in for him?’ asked Slater.

  ‘If you mean did she try it on with Woody, too,’ said Hollis, ‘the answer’s no. She became an anti Woody campaigner when he left Diana, and Diana started spreading all sorts of crap about what sort of husband he had been.’

  ‘Are you saying Laura Pettit and your wife are lying about Mr Woods?’ asked Norman.

  ‘I’m saying I think you’re being subjected to a considerable degree of exaggeration. I’m sure Woody’s no saint. But then, let’s face it, none of us are. And, as they say, who really knows what goes on behind closed doors? But he was married to Diana for twenty years, and I know she wasn’t the sort of woman to put up with the abuse he was supposed to have been dishing out. There was never so much as a hint about it during all the time I’ve known them, and even my wife will concede that much, and yet, the moment he left her, she started telling people what a bastard he was. Personally I think it’s all bollocks.’

  ‘But why do you think she would do that?’ asked Slater.

  ‘To divert attention away from her own behaviour and make herself out to be the squeaky clean victim in their failed marriage, that’s why,’ said Hollis.

  ‘What do you mean, “divert attention away from her own behaviour”?’

  ‘Have you spoken to Woody yet?’