by P. F. Ford
‘Have you never heard of client confidentiality?’ insisted Pearson.
‘Mr Dalgetty is dead. Surely that must give you some leeway.’
‘I was engaged by Mr Dalgetty to look after his affairs after his death, and that’s what I intend to do.’
‘So how about if we were to ask some questions that you could answer without divulging anything?’ said Norman. ‘What if we tell you some stuff and you just tell us if we’re right or wrong.’
Pearson sighed. ‘It’s still the same thing. I can’t tell you anything.’
‘Are we right to think Joe has no family?’ asked Norman.
‘I can’t tell you—’
‘The police say we’re right,’ said Slater.
‘Do they?’ asked Pearson, curiously.
‘Are you saying they’re wrong?’ asked Norman.
‘Well, no, of course not,’ said Pearson, exasperated.
Norman smiled at him. ‘There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? And you didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Why are you still paying his rent?’
‘I’m sorry?’ said Pearson, not quite able to keep up with the quick-fire questions and change of subject.
‘The rent on his house. It’s still being paid. Shouldn’t you have stopped the direct debit payment by now?’
‘I can assure you, I have notified everyone he was paying and stopped all the payments,’ Pearson said haughtily. ‘It’s a matter of preserving his estate, so it’s not something I take lightly.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Slater.
Pearson gave him a dirty look. ‘Do I look incompetent, Mr Slater?’
‘Well, no, I wasn’t trying to imply you were incompetent. It’s just that we believe his rent is still being paid because the landlord hasn’t tried to repossess the house.’
Pearson angrily opened a folder on his desk and thumbed through it until he found the page he wanted. He ran his finger down a short list. ‘There’s nothing here that looks like a regular rent payment. What’s the landlord’s name?’
‘Bennet, Swift,’ said Norman.
‘There’s no payee by that name,’ said Pearson.
‘There must be,’ said Slater.
Pearson glared at him. ‘There most certainly is not!’
‘So how was he paying his rent?’ asked Slater.
‘I have no idea,’ said Pearson, ‘but I can assure you it wasn’t through his bank account.’
‘What about council tax?’ asked Norman.
‘You’re starting to try my patience,’ said Pearson, tapping his fingers on the desk.
‘Utilities, then,’ insisted Norman. ‘Electricity, heating, stuff like that. Everyone pays those by direct debit, don’t they?’
Pearson glanced down at the list in front of him again. ‘It appears Mr Dalgetty liked to be different,’ he said.
‘What, none of them?’ asked Slater, in surprise.
‘People do still pay these things by cash,’ said Pearson. ‘You can do it at post offices and banks.’
‘Yeah, but my guess is he had his pension paid into that bank account, and if I’m correct that means he would have to withdraw the money to make those payments from his account first. Am I right?’
Pearson looked down at his list again and then back up at them again. He was looking a little uncomfortable now.
‘How much is in that account?’ asked Norman, then he held his hand up before Pearson could reply. ‘I know, you can’t tell me, right? So, let me make a guess. My guess is he’s never drawn a single penny out of that account.’
Pearson gulped loudly. Norman smiled a big wide smile.
‘We’ll take that as a yes, then, shall we?’ he said. ‘Let me try another one. My next guess is that he gave you twenty-five grand, in cash, a while ago so you could transfer it to Mrs Hewitt when he died. How am I doing so far?’
Pearson had turned pale.
‘Didn’t you think it was strange? I mean, twenty-five grand in cash? And you know it didn’t come from his bank account. Didn’t you wonder where he got it from?’
‘I think you should leave now,’ mumbled Pearson. ‘I don’t think I have anything more to say. As I’ve already told you—’
‘Yeah, we know,’ said Slater, ‘it’s that client confidentiality thing again, right?’
‘You know what’s worrying me now?’ asked Norman. Pearson gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. ‘I have to wonder if you’re serious about this client confidentiality bullshit, or if you’re just hiding behind it. You’ve probably noticed I have a pretty big gut.’ He patted his stomach affectionately. ‘The thing is, my gut’s telling me there’s something not right here, and being as it’s so big, I have to listen to it.’
‘And, in my experience, he’s usually right,’ said Slater. ‘You should think yourself lucky we’re not the police, or you’d be sitting in an interview room and possibly spending the night in a cell. As it is, we’re not going to stop investigating this, and you need to understand that you’re on our radar. We’re going to leave now, but when we’re gone you might want to have a think about that confidentiality bollocks and whether you’re really doing the right thing hiding behind it.’
As they got to their feet, Norman smiled at Pearson. ‘Don’t get up,’ he said, ‘we’ll see ourselves out.’
Pearson’s lips curled, but he said nothing. As soon as he was sure Slater and Norman had gone, he reached for his phone.
***
It was approaching 4 p.m. as they drove back to their office, so they had decided to call it a day and knock off early. Norman had been invited around to Jane Jolly’s for dinner. This was a significant step forward in their relationship, and he wanted to make sure he wasn’t late. Slater was going to take his laptop home and see if he could make any progress in his attempt to find some information about Joe Dalgetty.
Chapter Nine
On Thursday morning, Slater made an extra special effort to get to the office early, just to prove to himself he could still do it when he really wanted to. To his surprise, Norman was already there, out in the small kitchen at the back of the main office. Although there was no water plumbed in yet, they had both got fed up with having to go out every time they wanted tea or coffee, so they now had an electric kettle, a five-gallon water holder, six mugs, a small refrigerator for the milk, and a supply of tea and coffee.
When Slater poked his head around the kitchen door, Norman was pottering around making coffees, but it was a far more subdued Norman than Slater had left the previous afternoon. He was almost afraid to ask the question, but decided he needed to know.
‘So, how did the big dinner date go?’
‘It was okay,’ said Norman, glumly.
‘What do you mean it was okay? You couldn’t wait to get there yesterday. What happened?’
‘Well, I guess maybe I got the wrong end of the stick,’ said Norman, sadly. ‘I mean we had such a great time the night before, I thought we were moving up a gear, you know? I mean we’ve been friends for quite a while now, and I thought . . .’
‘Ah! I see,’ said Slater, sympathetically. ‘So, she doesn’t see it quite the way you do?’
‘Oh no, that’s not the problem. She feels the same as me. The thing is, this was never going to be a normal relationship, was it? I mean with our past, there’s always going to be that complication, right?’
The complication in question was Jane’s husband, who was currently staying at Her Majesty’s Pleasure after allowing himself to be convinced, incorrectly, that Norman was having an affair with his wife. It was his subsequent kidnapping of Norman that had led to his incarceration and Jane’s breakdown. She was in the process of divorcing him, but even so, he was still the father of her three children.
‘So, what’s happened?’ asked Slater.
‘He’s about to come out on parole, and he wants to see his kids. Jane’s frightened one of the kids is going to mention m
e and he’s going to kick off about it. Then again, the guy has every right to want to see his kids, and I completely understand that.’
‘Yeah, I can understand how that’s a complication,’ said Slater. ‘What are you going to do?’
Norman heaved a big sigh. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Part of me says I should stay away so I don’t inflame the situation, but another part of me says I should be there just in case.’
‘What does Jane say?’
‘She says he won’t do anything to upset the kids. He thinks the world of them, and he’s really missed them while he’s been away. I mean, he has to be allowed to see them, doesn’t he?’
‘I’m sorry, Norm, but I don’t know what to suggest.’
‘I didn’t think you would,’ said Norman. ‘I doubt if anyone really knows how to handle these situations. I can only do what I think is right and hope for the best, so I’m going to step back and let Jane make the call. She knows I’m there if she needs me.’
A knock on the outside door interrupted their conversation.
Slater looked over his shoulder. The top half of the door was glass, and through it he could see a young woman with dark hair, tied in a ponytail, leaning against the door frame and peering in at him.
‘Are you expecting company?’ he asked Norman.
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ said Norman, coming to look over Slater’s shoulder. ‘Maybe she’s looking for someone.’
She was looking straight at Slater, and now she began to wave.
‘Yeah, and it looks like it’s one of us,’ Slater said.
‘But there isn’t a sign up or anything,’ said Norman. ‘How does she know it’s us?’
‘The same way Rosie knew, I guess, but there’s only one way to find out for sure.’
He walked across the office towards the young woman, Norman following in his wake. As he opened the door, she levered herself away from the wall and, using the walking stick in her left hand, stood up as straight as she could. Slater couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t have said why, but he got the distinct impression the stick was a prop rather than a necessity.
‘Can I help you?’ asked Slater.
‘Are you Mr Slater?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
She grabbed his hand and shook it firmly. ‘Jolly pleased to meet you, sir!’ Then she stepped forward and grabbed Norman’s hand. ‘And you must be Mr Norman!’
‘Well, you seem to know who we are,’ said Slater, somewhat taken aback by the whirlwind greeting. ‘Perhaps you could introduce yourself?’
‘DS Samantha Brearley, but you can call me Watson, everyone else does. Mr Bradshaw sent me,’ she said, turning to Slater. ‘He said to tell you I’m the goodwill gesture.’
Slater’s mouth dropped open.
‘Goodwill gesture?’ asked Norman, looking accusingly at Slater. ‘Does Jenny know about this?’
‘Oh gosh, no!’ said Watson, blushing furiously. ‘I’m not that sort of goodwill gesture. I’m sure I’d be hopeless at that! I’ve been sent to help out with your case.’
‘Case? What case?’ asked Slater, dumbly.
‘Mr Dalgetty, deceased in uncertain circumstances,’ she said.
Norman turned to Slater in surprise. ‘Help out with the case?’
‘Jesus!’ said Slater, his eyes glued on the girl. ‘He was serious?’
‘Oh, yes, very much so,’ she said. ‘He meant every word.’
‘I hate to interrupt,’ said Norman, ‘but would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on, and why a young woman has been sent down here to help us?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’ Watson asked.
‘Do I look like I know?’
‘Now you come to mention it . . .’ She turned her attention to Slater. ‘Didn’t you tell him?’
‘Well, no. I didn’t actually think anything was going to come of it, and I certainly wasn’t expecting him to send a young woman down here.’
‘Hello?’ called Norman, indignantly. ‘Like I said, I hate to interrupt your conversation, but I think, as this is actually my case you’re talking about, I deserve some sort of explanation.’
He stepped back to allow the young woman to enter, waving his hands to usher her in the right direction.
‘Right, young lady. Step inside. I wanna know what’s going on.’
The young woman bent down to grab the enormous suitcase she had brought with her.
‘Here, let me help you,’ said Slater.
‘It’s fine. I can manage,’ she insisted. It was something of a struggle for her, despite the fact the case had wheels, but she was obviously determined to show she could manage, so the two men stood respectfully aside and tried not to stare as she dragged the bag inside. Slater thought it would have been a lot easier if she had let go of the walking stick, but kept this thoughts to himself.
She might have been independent enough to insist on carrying her own bag, but when Slater dragged a chair across for her to sit on, she sank gratefully onto it, her left leg stretched out before her.
Norman arranged two more chairs so they were all facing each other and then he sat down. Slater took the remaining vacant seat.
‘Right. Let’s hear it,’ said Norman, looking pointedly at Slater.
‘Err, well, it’s a bit difficult to know where to start,’ he explained, awkwardly.
‘Try from the beginning,’ said Norman. ‘I find that tends to work best.’
Slater was squirming inwardly and cursing himself for not telling his friend about this from the beginning.
‘Yes, of course. From the beginning. Right. Well, it’s a bit difficult, and you’re probably not going to like this. What I mean is, I should have told you about this weeks ago, and I feel really bad that I haven’t been able to tell you, but—’
‘If you’re about to tell me you’re on a sabbatical,’ said Norman, ‘then yes, you should have told me, and yes, you deserve to be feeling bad for not telling me about it from the start.’
Slater stared at Norman, agog. ‘You knew?’
Norman spread his arms. ‘I’m a detective, right?’
‘Yeah, but how?’
‘I’m not gonna reveal my sources.’
‘It was Jenny, wasn’t it? But when did she tell you? And why?’
‘Well, she did tell me you were regretting not telling me from the start, and that now you didn’t feel you could tell me because you didn’t want to disappoint me over the business. But I already knew before that. In her defence, she felt she had to tell me because it was tearing you apart and because she cares about you, and she was worried we might fall out over it. Why do you think I keep asking you all those pointed questions about the business? I’ve been creating opportunities for you to come clean all over the shop, and you’ve missed every one!’
Watson was sitting perfectly still watching the two of them, absolutely enthralled.
‘You’ve known about it all along, and you let me suffer all that guilt?’ asked Slater, taking his turn to be the indignant one.
Norman beamed a megawatt smile at him. ‘I think you’ll find that was your choice. You could have told me right from day one, but you chose to keep it to yourself—’
‘And the longer it went on, the harder it got,’ finished Slater.
Norman turned to their guest. ‘What would you have done, Watson?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’m with you, Mr Norman, sir,’ she said. ‘If he did that to me, I’d make him suffer – every time.’
‘Hey, wait a minute,’ said Slater. ‘You’re supposed to be my goodwill gesture, not his!’
‘Yes sir. Sorry, sir,’ she said, contritely. ‘I got a bit carried away in the moment, but Mr Norman did ask.’
‘You don’t have to call either of us “sir”. We’re just two ordinary guys,’ said Norman. ‘I much prefer it if you call me Norm, and he’s Dave.’
‘I might find that bit difficult,’ she said.
‘Why’s that?’ asked Slater.
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‘I’m not sure I can say, sir. Not if you haven’t told Mr Norman about Mr Bradshaw’s visit. It’s not my place, is it?’
‘Bradshaw was the guy who came to visit when I was out yesterday, was he?’ asked Norman.
‘Yeah,’ said Slater.
‘And he came here to offer you a job, right?’
Slater’s face reddened. ‘Well, yeah, but I told him I’d think about it. That’s when he offered what he called a “goodwill gesture”, but I wasn’t even sure he was for real, so I thought it would come to nothing.’ He looked at Watson. ‘I certainly didn’t expect him to send an assistant down here. I’m not sure what he thinks you can do that we can’t.’
‘I’m not some sort of secretary,’ said Watson, indignantly. ‘I’m a DS with specialist skills. I’ve even got a warrant card here somewhere.’ She made to start searching through her bag, but Norman stopped her.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Norman. ‘I know who you are.’
‘You do?’ asked Slater, confused.
‘When Robin left here, I ran into him outside. He told me he was going to send someone down to try and persuade you he was for real.’
‘Robin?’ echoed Slater. ‘You mean you know Bradshaw?’ He was becoming more incredulous by the minute.
‘We worked together for a few months up in the City years ago,’ said Norman. ‘He was a high-flyer back then, destined for great things. Looks like he’s done well.’
‘So all that “what’s going on here?” indignation bollocks was just you winding me up, was it?’ asked Slater. ‘When, in actual fact, you’ve been conspiring behind my back.’
‘Yeah, I suppose you could put it like that,’ said Norman thoughtfully, ‘but whereas you see it as conspiring, I see it as getting you back where you belong. And before you start complaining, it’s no worse than you keeping your sabbatical secret, is it?’
Slater couldn’t really argue with that. ‘So, if you knew about this before Jenny told you, exactly how long have you known?’ he asked.
‘Robin got in touch with me when you were in Thailand. He knew we had been working together and he wanted to know what I thought of you, why you really wanted to leave, and if I thought you could be persuaded to go back and work for him. That’s when he told me you’d been talked into taking a sabbatical.’