by Ford, P. F.
‘We didn’t find it.’
Slater gave him a hard stare.
‘We had to make sure there was no outstanding company business,’ Rossiter said, holding his hands up. ‘We didn’t find any personal stuff.’
‘Who’s we?’ asked Norman.
‘Well, it was just me, actually,’ said Rossiter.
‘That’s a bit of a menial task for you, isn’t it?’ said Slater.
‘She worked closely with me. I was the best person to know what was what.’
Slater looked at his watch again. It was eleven fifteen. From somewhere close by, the muffled sound of a mobile phone ringing could be heard. He watched Rossiter, and saw his eyes dart to his desk and then back to them.
‘Can you hear that sound, Norm?’ asked Slater. ‘Don’t you think it sounds like a mobile phone ringing?’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Norman. ‘It sounds like it’s coming from Mr Rossiter’s desk.’
Slater looked hard at Rossiter.
‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’
‘Answer what?’ asked Rossiter, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
‘You look a little peaky, Mr Rossiter,’ said Norman, smiling. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘That’s not my phone,’ said Rossiter. ‘Look, both of mine are on my desk.’
‘Well, it certainly sounds like it’s coming from your desk,’ said Slater. ‘Maybe I should take a look.’
‘That desk is private.’
‘Well you answer it then. Only it’s driving me mad, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop.’
‘But-,’ began Rossiter.
‘Here,’ interrupted Slater, marching around the desk. ‘Let me help you.’
He pointed to the right hand bottom drawer.
‘It’s coming from in there,’ he said. ‘I can hear it clearly now I’m round this side.’
He reached for the drawer, expecting to be challenged, but Rossiter just stepped back out of the way.
‘Someone must have put it there,’ he spluttered.
‘Well, it certainly can’t have got there on its own,’ said Norman.
Slater pulled on a pair of latex gloves and slid the drawer open. There, sat in a charging cradle, was a mobile phone.
‘Well, well,’ said Slater, lifting the phone from the drawer. ‘Look at that. Whoever hid the phone here installed a charging kit, too.’
Slater pressed a key and raised the phone close to his ear.
‘Hi, Jane,’ he said. ‘Right on time. Well done. Oh yes. Perfect.’
He ended the call and looked at the contact list.
‘Only one contact number listed,’ said Slater. ‘Care to tell us whose it is, Mr Rossiter?’
‘How would I know? I’ve never seen that before in my life,’ mumbled Rossiter. ‘Someone has put it there.’
‘Yeah. You already told us that,’ said Norman. ‘And you reckon Ian Woods talks a load of rubbish. It’s Diana’s mobile number isn’t it?’
‘You can’t prove that phone is mine. Someone’s planted it there.’
‘And why would anyone do that?’ asked Norman.
‘To make me look guilty, of course,’ spluttered Rossiter.
‘Well, it’s done that alright,’ said Slater.
‘I think you have some explaining to do, Mr Rossiter,’ said Norman. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘My, my,’ said Slater, looking at the sent and received text messages on the phone. ‘Look at these messages. There’s a lot of X-rated content here. They all seem to be from someone called D and they all seem to have been sent to someone called B. Now I reckon D is Diana Woods, but d’you know I just can’t seem to think of anyone who has the initial B. Can you think of anyone, Norm?’
‘I’m wracking my brain,’ said Norman. ‘How about you read one of those messages out? Maybe that will help me think.’
‘Here you go,’ said Slater. ‘There’s a word here that my mum says I should never use so I’ll just use the first letter. I’m sure you’ll know the one I mean. It goes like this: Hi B, Fancy a lunchtime “f”?’
He looked at Rossiter.
‘Wow. Not much doubt about what that can mean, is there? Explicit and straight to the point. And it’s signed D and there’s two little xs. D’you think they’re sort of kissey, kisseys?’
‘It sounds like a real romantic lovey-dovey message to me,’ agreed Norman. ‘So yeah, I think you’re right. Kissey, kisseys. It’s gotta be.’
With a theatrical flourish he put his hands up.
‘Oh my, wait a minute!’ he said. ‘I’ve just realised. Mr Rossiter’s initial is B. How’s that for a coincidence?’
‘Now, you know I’m not one for coincidences,’ said Slater. ‘But, how about you, Mr Rossiter? Do you think it’s a coincidence?’
‘I’ve told you I don’t know how that phone got there. And if you want to ask me any more questions you’ll have to do it in front of my solicitor.’
‘Are you volunteering, Mr Rossiter?’ asked Slater.
‘It’ll be down at the station,’ said Norman.
‘Right.’ Rossiter seemed to have restored some of his lost confidence. ‘I’ll phone him right now and we can make an appointment.’
‘I’ll take this phone in and get it checked for fingerprints,’ said Slater. ‘That should tell us who planted it in your drawer. Of course we’ll need to take your prints too, just for elimination purposes. I’m sure your solicitor will explain how that works if you have a problem.’
It was no real surprise to find Rossiter’s solicitor was also the company solicitor, a weary looking man called Brian Humphreys who didn’t exactly seem to be overjoyed at the prospect of getting involved when he walked into the room two minutes later.
‘What the bloody hell have you done this time?’ he asked as he marched in, barely glancing at Slater and Norman.
‘These two police officers would like me to answer some questions,’ said Rossiter, hastily. ‘I’ve told them I’m happy to do so, but that I wish you to be present.’
‘I’m DS Norman, and this is DS Slater,’ said Norman.
Humphreys acknowledged them before turning his attention to Rossiter.
‘Well, I’m afraid I can’t do it now, Bruce,’ he said, testily. ‘I’m not here solely at your beck and call. I do have other duties besides representing you. I’m busy right now. You’ll have to wait.’
‘Err, I was thinking maybe tomorrow morning at Tinton police station, Mr Humphreys,’ said Norman.
‘Oh. Right. I see,’ said Humphreys, scowling at Rossiter. ‘But I need some time with my client. If I have to represent his interests, I need to know what he’s supposed to have done.’
‘We’re not saying he’s done anything,’ replied Norman. ‘We’re conducting an inquiry into the murder of Diana Woods, and we need Mr Rossiter to answer some questions to help us out, that’s all.’
‘Can’t you do it here?’
‘We tried that,’ said Norman. ‘But Mr Rossiter has indicated, quite clearly, that he prefers to come to the station. It’s probably the right thing to do in the circumstances. It’ll be more discreet. If you see what I mean.’
Humphreys looked distinctly annoyed at this development, and he glared at Rossiter.
‘Mr Rossiter found this phone in his desk,’ Slater told him, holding up the phone. ‘He says it’s not his, and that someone must have planted it there. We’re going to take it with us to check it for fingerprints. Obviously we’ll need Mr Rossiter to allow us to take his fingerprints for elimination purposes.’
Rossiter squirmed unhappily and turned to Humphreys.
‘Of course,’ said Humphreys, with a grimace that could have been a smirk. ‘That won’t be a problem.’
Humphreys seemed to be enjoying the fact that Rossiter was firmly on the back foot.
‘Would ten o’clock tomorrow morning be convenient?’ Slater asked the solicitor.
Ross
iter opened his mouth to say something, but Humphreys beat him to it.
‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ said Humphreys, grinning. ‘I think we should all do our bit to help the police, and I’m sure Bruce agrees, don’t you Bruce?’
But for once, Bruce Rossiter didn’t seem to have anything to say.
Chapter 11
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ian Becks, calling up from the tiny forensics lab in the basement at Tinton police station. ‘But this mobile phone’s been wiped clean. There’s not even a partial print anywhere on the case.’
‘Bugger,’ muttered Slater down the phone. ‘I should have known the slimy sod would be too clever for that. I know it’s his bloody phone, and I bet no one else has ever used it, but he’s going to argue it’s not his until he’s blue in the face.’
‘So, let him argue,’ said Becks. ‘Because, you see, he’s not actually as clever as he thinks he is.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You’re saying he bought this as a pay-as-you-go phone, so he could communicate with his bit on the side without anyone ever knowing, right? So, it would figure he’s the only person who’s ever handled this phone.’
‘Yes,’ said Slater, slowly, trying to guess where this train of thought was going, but not succeeding. ‘And?’
‘Well, think about it,’ said Becks. ‘When you buy a mobile phone it comes in a box, but the battery and SIM card aren’t usually already in the phone, are they? If he’s the only one who knows about this phone, it means he must have put it together.’
‘Come on Becksy, get to the point. What are you saying?’ asked Slater in exasperation. ‘Don’t make me follow you all round the houses, mate. Just spit it out.’
‘What do you think I’m saying? I’ve found some fingerprints on the inside of the case and on the battery.’
‘You’re kidding me. Really? Oh, Becksy, that’s brilliant.’
‘It’s just what we do down here,’ said Becks. ‘You’ve got a problem? Just send it down here, and the real brains will solve it for you.’
Slater couldn’t argue with that one. Well, not this time, anyway.
‘He’s coming in tomorrow morning,’ said Slater. ‘If we get him printed before we interview him, do you think you can give us a result while he’s still here?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Becks. ‘It should be a piece of cake.’
Slater was relieved to find Ian Woods was still in town when he called him just before lunch. He seemed quite keen to come in and talk to them again, but then, as he said, he didn’t really have anything else to do.
‘Thanks for coming in again, Ian,’ said Slater, a little later that afternoon. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d still be in town.’
‘Well, I was going to stay around for the funeral,’ said Woods. ‘But it’s been made pretty clear I’m not going to be welcome. Besides which, they need a body, don’t they?’
‘Yes,’ said Slater. ‘I don’t know for sure when it will be released. I heard they were considering a memorial service in the meantime.’
‘I’d like to go, really I would,’ said Woods. ‘But her parents will only cause a scene and I wouldn’t want that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Slater. ‘Would it help if I talk to them?’
‘Ha! I don’t think so,’ said Woods. ‘They’ve made their minds up. You could come up with the real killer, but I don’t think it would make any difference. Diana seems to have done a great job of discrediting me since I left, but I’m not surprised. Accepting responsibility for her actions never was her strong point.’
‘You have good reason to feel bitter,’ said Norman.
‘But I don’t, really. I’m more disappointed than bitter. And anyway, being bitter isn’t going to change anything is it? What’s done is done.’
His sad face showed he wasn’t really quite as happy about the situation as he was trying to make out, but then he seemed to snap out of it and perk up.
‘Anyway, I’m making a new start down in Wales, so it really doesn’t matter what anyone up here thinks. I know the truth, and I don’t have any problem sleeping at night.’
He offered them a brief smile.
‘Anyway, what can I do for you?’ he asked.
‘When we spoke to her parents, we got the feeling Diana’s mother wasn’t quite so sure Diana was a saint,’ replied Slater. ‘Her father was adamant, but we felt your mother-in-law wasn’t convinced.’
‘That’s because she knew about the first affair. No one told the old man, so he’s totally unaware, but she knew.’
‘How did she react?’ asked Norman.
‘She never actually said anything to me. But I overheard her telling Diana how disappointed she was, and how she thought I didn’t deserve to have that happen. Diana blamed it on me being at work all the time, you see. But like her mum said, I was only doing that to pay for all the improvements to the house. How else could we afford to get it all done as quickly as Diana wanted?’
‘So who was the guy involved in this earlier affair?’ asked Norman.
‘There was more than one,’ said Woods. ‘Diana thought nothing of moving on if a better offer came along.’
‘A better offer?’ asked Norman.
‘The first guy flattered his way into her knickers and plied her with free gin and tonics. He was young and worked behind a bar, see. Then this older guy started hitting on her, and she quickly discovered older men have money. The young barman couldn’t compete with that, so he was ditched and she got used to having nice clothes bought for her. I was so thick I didn’t realise she was spending his money on those things. I even told her to stop spending all our money on that stuff.’
‘So you knew?’ asked Slater.
‘You’d have thought, wouldn’t you?’ Woods sighed and shook his head. ‘But I trusted her, you see, and it wasn’t as if she was going out at night to see these blokes. She realised very early on that no one suspects a lunchtime affair. She used to rush out of work at lunchtime, run around the corner and jump into the old guy’s car. Five minutes later they’d be stripping off in his bedroom, then he’d drop her back at work when they’d finished. It was great for him. He was nearly forty and she was barely twenty. And she was beautiful.’
‘Jeez,’ said Norman. ‘She was quite a piece of work.’
‘Not just deceitful, but cunning, too,’ agreed Woods.
‘Can you name any of these guys?’
‘Why? What difference will it make now?
‘It will help us to corroborate your story,’ explained Slater. ‘And it will confirm the picture we’re building of Diana. We’re going to need it because all her friends are going to stand up in court and say she was nothing like that. And they will probably also say that if she was like that it’s because of the mental torture and physical abuse you subjected her to.’
‘But I never did,’ said Woods, emphatically.
‘Easy, Woody, easy,’ soothed Norman. ‘We’re not accusing you, this is what we’re hearing from them.’
‘If I was so evil, why did she write to me telling me how much she missed what she called the “mental support” I used to give her? And why did she keep asking me to come back?’
‘Do you still have those letters?’ asked Slater.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ said Woods. ‘She didn’t know where I was living, but she knew Jim Brennan was in touch with me so she asked him to send them on to me.’
‘D’you think we could see them?’
‘If I’ve still got them they’ll be back at home. But I’m sure I know where they are.’
‘Why did you keep them?’ asked Norman.
‘I don’t know.’ Woods sighed heavily. ‘I suppose because they proved that, despite everything, I had actually meant something to her.’
‘Maybe you should show them to Diana’s father,’ said Slater.
‘He’d probably say I’d written them,’ said Woods. ‘It would be a waste of time.’
‘It would be really useful if you
could let us have them,’ said Norman.
‘I’m going back tomorrow. I’m not welcome around here, so there’s not much point in hanging around. I’ll post them to you.’
‘Take them down to your local station,’ Norman told him. ‘They’ll make sure they get to us.’
‘And if you can give us those names,’ asked Slater.
‘Sure,’ said Woods. ‘I’ll write them down for you, but I don’t know if they still live around here.’
‘I’m sure we’ll be able to find them,’ said Slater.
It was seven-thirty. Slater was slouching in an armchair, trying to enjoy a can of lager, as he flicked through the TV channels trying to find something he actually wanted to watch. The best bet so far seemed to be a match from a pre-season friendly football tournament, but the fact it was a friendly match suggested it would be a passionless affair and he was clinging to the vain hope that surely there must be something better. He wondered what was the point in paying to have over a hundred channels to choose from if they were all showing crap?
This had become his habit over the last three months, and he found he was becoming increasingly apathetic about life outside of work. He knew exactly why he felt that way, and when it had started, yet he seemed powerless to snap out of it.
It had begun about a week after he had split from his girlfriend Cindy. When he had first got to know her, he had actually thought he might have found the woman he had been looking for all his life. They had quickly become close, and he had been spending more and more of his time living at her house. But Cindy found it increasingly difficult to share Slater with the demands of his job, and they’d decided to take a break while she decided what it was she really wanted.
For the first week after she had left he had felt a sort of guilty relief, but then he had been so busy he had no time to think about what he’d lost. Now, however, he’d had plenty of time to think about it and he was keenly aware of the big empty space that seemed to fill his life away from work.
The agony was made worse for him by Cindy’s decision to fulfil an ambition and go travelling. She was keeping in touch with the occasional email. The one waiting for him when he got home announced her arrival in Thailand, but there was no suggestion she would be coming home anytime soon.
