by Ford, P. F.
‘Your young lady said there would be two of you when she called yesterday. Don’t you have to show me your badges, or something?’
‘Oh, right. Yes,’ said Norman, fumbling in his pocket and producing his card.
She studied his warrant card, and then did the same with Slater’s.
‘Well, come on in,’ she said, turning on her heel. ‘Come through to the kitchen and I’ll make some tea.’
Norman wondered what had happened to the small, slender woman in the photo. It looked as though she had arrived at her fifties and then given up for some reason. Then she turned and gave him the most beautiful smile and he had a rush of guilt. It’s not what’s on the outside that matters, it’s what’s on the inside that really counts, he thought. And anyway, look at me. Who am I to criticise?
As he walked into the kitchen, Norman’s eyes alighted on the fancy coffee machine on the worktop. His envious look must have been obvious, as Angela Rossiter followed his gaze.
‘If you’d prefer coffee, it won’t take a moment to fire up the machine,’ she said.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked her. ‘Only we don’t get to drink decent coffee very often.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘My pleasure. Sit yourselves down.’
She waved them towards the breakfast bar under a window looking out onto the garden.
‘This is a nice place, Mrs Rossiter,’ Norman said, looking out at the garden. ‘I bet this cost a tidy penny.’
‘That’s the benefit of being married to a money machine,’ she said. ‘We can afford a nice house in a nice area. Of course the downside is he’s away a lot.’
‘Can’t you go with him?’ asked Slater.
‘Good God, no,’ she said, laughing. ‘I wish he went away more often, pompous pig that he is.’
Norman and Slater exchanged a look. This wasn’t what they had expected.
‘Well, you’ve met him,’ she said, with another flashing smile. ‘Don’t tell me you liked him? If you did, you’re the only ones.’
‘Err, well,’ said Norman. ‘He did seem to be a little-’
‘Up his own backside?’ she interrupted. ‘Yes, that’s him. Thinks he’s the only one in the world who has an opinion that matters. Fat sod.’
Norman saw Slater try to stifle a grin – not successfully, as Mrs Rossiter noticed and let out a roar of laughter.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘How can I call him fat? Its pot and kettle, isn’t it? The thing is, I know I’ve let myself go. He, on the other hand, thinks he’s God’s gift to women.’
‘It can’t have always been like that,’ said Norman. ‘I saw a photo of you from five years ago and you looked pretty good to me.’
‘Why, thank you,’ she said, going slightly pink. ‘I used to have to work at it though. It didn’t come naturally to me. I had to be really careful what I ate, spend hours at the gym, didn’t drink, all that sort of crap. And for what? Just so I could be displayed in public like some sort of possession. And then, just to top it all, I’d have to put up with that fat pig climbing all over me.’
She stopped talking for a minute while she poured two coffees. Norman and Slater sat in silence, waiting for her to continue.
‘And then, one day, I realised what a bloody fool I was,’ she said, handing them each a steaming mug. ‘So I stopped doing it. I thought if I made myself less attractive he’d leave me alone.’
‘And did it work?’ asked Norman.
‘Not at first. But he finally got the hint when he came home one day and found we had separate bedrooms. That was nearly four years ago now. Best thing I ever did. The only pity is he still comes home. I haven’t managed to drive him out completely yet, but I’m still hoping.’
‘That sounds like irretrievable breakdown,’ said Norman, carefully.
‘Oh it is,’ she agreed.
‘So how did it get that bad?’ asked Slater.
‘My husband has a roving eye and finds it impossible to keep his todger where it belongs,’ she said. ‘So now we have an understanding. I don’t care what he does, as long as he doesn’t try to do it with me, doesn’t do it here in my house, and he doesn’t embarrass me.’
Norman hadn’t been expecting that, and he found it impossible to keep it from his face.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You probably think I should divorce him. But what’s the rush? I have a good life here, I don’t want for anything, and now I can keep him at arm’s length.’
‘It wouldn’t suit everyone,’ said Slater.
‘I’m biding my time. One of these days he’s going to slip up, and then I’ll have him for every penny I can, believe me.’
Slater looked confused, and Norman knew he was considering how best to approach the subject of Diana Woods. They had no time for being sensitive, though.
‘I’m sure you’re aware of the death of Diana Woods, your husband’s PA,’ said Norman. ‘We’re trying to create as broad a picture of her as we can. Did you know her?’
‘Oh yes,’ Mrs Rossiter said. ‘I met her at various functions to do with my husband’s work, and of course as his PA she called here occasionally. She was a lovely girl. She always had time for everyone. She even found the time to help me with one or two fundraisers. In fact, we were planning another one in a couple of months.’
‘What fundraisers are these, Mrs Rossiter?’
‘I volunteer at the St Anne’s children’s hospital.’
‘That’s miles away, isn’t it?’
‘We used to live near there,’ she said. ‘That’s how I got involved originally. I was soon on the fundraising committee. When we moved here I thought I would have to give it all up, but I actually enjoy it, so I’m still doing it now. I work in the shop there on Tuesdays and Fridays. It keeps me busy and gives me something to look forward to.’
‘Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to murder Diana Woods?’ asked Norman.
‘Absolutely not, Sergeant. She was a lovely person. It makes no sense to me.’
‘One more thing. Can you tell us where you were on Monday afternoon between five and six o’clock?’
‘I drove down to the post box to catch the last post at five-fifteen,’ she said. ‘I almost didn’t make it because the postman was already there.’
‘So he saw you there?’ asked Norman.
‘Oh yes.’ She smiled. ‘He held the bag open for me so I could put my letter straight in. Then I came back here to prepare a trough for Porky to come home to.’
‘What time did he come home?’ asked Slater.
‘Late,’ she said. ‘It was gone seven by the time he got here.’
‘Don’t say a word,’ said Norman, as Angela Rossiter closed her front door behind them, and they headed for their car.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Slater, in surprise.
‘You’re going to ask me what I think. And right now I’m not ready to tell you.’
‘Why not?’ Slater was perplexed.
‘I need ten minutes to consider, that’s why,’ said Norman. ‘You rushing me isn’t going to help.’
‘What do you want me to do, then?’
‘Drive,’ said Norman. ‘It’ll take about ten minutes to get across town to that burger van. We’ll stop there. Then I’ll tell you what I think.’
‘You mean you want an early lunch, right?’
‘Now you’re talking,’ said Norman. ‘That’s a seriously cool idea. I always think better when I’m eating.’
‘Of course,’ said Slater, sighing. ‘How could I have forgotten?’
As Norman had requested, they drove in silence across town. Twice Slater went to speak, and each time Norman held a finger to his lips as a reminder.
‘There. That wasn’t so hard, was it,’ said Norman when they reached their destination. ‘As a reward for keeping quiet you can buy me a burger and a large coffee.’
‘How is that a reward?’ asked Slater. ‘I’m always buying you lunch.’
‘And you should be proud of such charita
ble acts. It’s very humbling for me to be in the presence of someone with such a big heart. I’m hoping one day I can be like you.’
‘There are givers, and there are takers,’ said Slater, sighing, as he walked across to the burger van.
As he climbed back into the car five minutes later, Norman held out his hand.
‘I want answers first,’ said Slater.
‘Aw, come on. It’ll be cold by then. Anyway, I said I think better when I’m eating, not when you’re holding my lunch to ransom.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Slater in exasperation. ‘You really do have an answer for everything, don’t you?’
‘Listen and learn,’ said Norman, grinning. ‘Listen and learn.’
For the next three minutes, Slater sat brooding while Norman devoured his burger, and then, finally, he delivered his opinion.
‘I think I preferred her without the excess weight,’ he said.
‘Oh, for f-’ began Slater.
‘Alright, I’m sorry. Okay. I’ll be serious. I’m actually confused. I’m not sure if I just met the dumbest woman ever, or the cleverest.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Slater. ‘How can she have known what he was like and yet not know about Diana?’
‘And I just cannot believe he was bringing Diana back to his house and they never left a trace of evidence for her to find,’ said Norman.
‘They did have separate bedrooms.’
‘Yeah, but even so. I just can’t see it. I mean, she comes across as quite intelligent, and she’s obviously got old Brucie sussed out for what he really is. Yet she expects us to believe she can’t see what he’s doing right under her nose? Jeez, he’s almost rubbing her nose in it taking Diana back there.’
‘And what about that Diana?’ said Slater. ‘She helps Angela out with fundraisers, and humps her husband at the same time! She was even more of a piece of work than I thought.’
‘In my opinion we shouldn’t trust Angela Rossiter,’ said Norman emphatically. ‘She was way too nice, and way too helpful for my liking. Look at all that stuff she volunteered about her old man and their relationship, and that was before we’d asked her a single question.’
‘So you reckon nobody’s that stupid?’
‘Correct.’
‘What about Woody? It was going on under his nose for years, and he didn’t see it.’
‘Yeah,’ said Norman. ‘But once he realised he didn’t get fooled again, did he? Angela Rossiter is asking us to believe she’s missing all the signs even when you know what they look like. I don’t buy it.’
‘There’s a difference, though,’ insisted Slater. ‘Woody still loved Diana. Angela Rossiter gave up doing that years ago. She’s just waiting for our friend to fail big time so she can take him to the cleaners.’
‘But that’s what’s wrong here. If she’s so keen to catch him out and clean up, surely she would be trying extra hard to see the signs, wouldn’t she?’
‘You have a point,’ agreed Slater. ‘But for now I’m keeping an open mind on that. However, I am intrigued about the apparent discrepancy in the times Rossiter arrived home. He says five forty-five, and she says after seven.’
‘Yeah,’ said Norman, a smile playing around his lips. ‘And he was so confident about his alibi. I can’t wait to see his face when we tell him he had plenty of time to drive out to Bishops Common before he came home.’
‘It’s a pity no one saw his car,’ said Slater. ‘That would be the icing on the cake.’
‘Yeah. We’ve still not found out anything about this white van yet. If no one had a delivery of any sort, and no one was working down there with a white van, what the hell was it doing there? It has to be relevant to the murder.’
Chapter 15
Slater and Norman were back on the carpet in front of DCI Bob Murray’s desk. He had demanded an update, and it was quite obvious he wasn’t hearing what he wanted to hear.
‘But why hasn’t this Woods man been charged with his wife’s murder?’ demanded Murray.
‘Because he didn’t do it,’ replied Slater.
‘You told me he had the motive, the means and the opportunity. And you even have someone who saw a white van leaving the scene. Good God, man, what more do you need?’
‘Err, we did inform you he had an alibi, Boss,’ said Norman. ‘I came up and told you myself. I would have thought you would have remembered – you weren’t exactly in the best of moods when I left.’
‘You told me it was a pack of lies,’ roared Murray. ‘Why haven’t you proved it?’
Slater looked at Norman in surprise. He hadn’t mentioned anything about telling Murray he thought it was lies.
‘That’s not what I said,’ insisted Norman. ‘I said I thought it was very convenient, but I also said we have no reason to believe Mrs Brennan isn’t telling us the truth.’
‘Well find a bloody reason,’ snapped Murray. ‘As far as I’m concerned you have an open and shut case. Woods went round to see his wife, they argued, he lost his rag, and he stabbed her. End of story. You find the murder weapon and you’ll see I’m right. This alibi will prove to be false, you mark my words. Now stop wasting time, and money, making irrelevant enquiries into the dead woman’s past, and get on with closing this case.’
Slater could take criticism when he felt it was warranted, but this was getting ridiculous. It wasn’t anyone’s fault they hadn’t solved this case yet; it was just how it goes sometimes. One thing was for sure – he had just about had enough of Murray and his foul temper.
‘Oh, now I see where we’ve been going wrong,’ he said, with heavy irony. ‘We’ve been trying to find evidence to lead us to the killer, when what we should be doing is choosing a killer and then making the evidence fit. No wonder we waste so much money. Why didn’t you tell us this before?’
Slater watched in fascination as Murray’s face slowly turned purple. He was spoiling for a fight, and was prepared to give as good as he got. But Murray seemed to be so angry he couldn’t speak. Norman shifted uncomfortably next to Slater.
‘Err, right, Sir,’ Norman said. ‘Arrest and charge Ian Woods. We’ll get onto it right away. Come on Dave. Let’s go.’
He grabbed Slater by the arm and ushered him out of the office before Murray could stop them. And keeping a tight grip of his colleague’s arm, he continued to frog march him down the stairs and out to their car.
‘Just get in,’ he ordered Slater. ‘I’ll drive.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Anywhere that’s not here. Now get in. And phones off. Let’s just disappear for a while.’
‘I don’t get it,’ said Slater once they were under way. ‘Why is he so keen to pin the blame on Ian Woods? And why is he being so bloody unreasonable? It’s not our fault it’s not as straightforward as he wants it to be, is it?’
He looked across at Norman, before adding, ‘And don’t you stick up for him by telling me he’s under pressure. Everyone on the bloody planet’s under pressure. That is not an excuse.’
‘Actually I wasn’t going to defend him,’ said Norman. ‘I feel as aggrieved as you do, but provoking him the way you just did doesn’t help. If we’re going to solve this case, I need you here working with me. Fall out with the Old Man and you could end up directing traffic.’
‘It’s a matter of principle, Norm. I told you before I want to be able to sleep at night. I won’t be able to do that if we stitch up Ian Woods.’
‘Look, you’re preaching to the converted here. I agree with you. But the way to deal with Murray is to humour him. Agree with what he says and then carry on doing the right thing. We do what we always do and follow the evidence wherever it leads. I just hope it doesn’t lead us all the way round in a big circle and right back to Ian Woods, because if it does, we’ll both be directing traffic.’
‘You don’t think it will, though, do you?’ asked Slater.
‘Nah,’ said Norman. ‘My money’s on Rossiter.’
‘So what are we going to do
now?’
‘We’re going to stay out of the way for a few hours. We can start by going to see our new friend Bruce Rossiter. It’s time he explained why there’s a gap of over an hour between when he says he got home and when his wife says he got home.’
‘What? D’you mean to say you’re not expecting me to buy lunch again?’
‘I don’t remember saying anything of the sort,’ said Norman. ‘You buying lunch is a given. That’s where we’re going first.’
‘But we had an early lunch just a couple of hours ago,’ protested Slater.
‘Ah yes,’ agreed Norman. ‘But it just so happens all that excitement in Murray’s office has made me extra hungry. What we had before was just the starter. Now it’s time for the main course.’
‘You’re fast becoming a one-man obesity epidemic. Don’t you ever worry about your health?’
‘What good did worrying ever do anybody?’ asked Norman. ‘Don’t you know it’s bad for your blood pressure?’
‘So’s all this fast food crap you eat,’ said Slater. ‘And I don’t think I care to sponsor your personal obesity plan anymore. If you want to eat yourself to death, that’s up to you, but don’t expect me to help you. You’re no good to anyone dead.’
‘Wow. Where did that come from?’ Norman looked stunned.
‘You need to understand it’s not all about you,’ said Slater. ‘Don’t you ever think about your friends and how they worry about you?’
Norman didn’t seem to have a reply. His face worked furiously, and then he sighed. Slater hoped he had got through to him.
‘Okay,’ he said, finally. ‘But can we stop for coffee on the way? Coffee’s okay, isn’t it?’
The car park at Rochester & Dorset (Marketing) Ltd was half empty. Slater had a sinking feeling that this might prove to be a wasted trip.
‘Park down this end of the car park, Norm,’ said Slater. ‘We can have a nose around on the walk up to reception.’
‘Crap,’ said Norman, looking around the car park. ‘It looks like half the workforce is away today. I hope this doesn’t mean Rossiter’s not here.’
