by P. F. Ford
Norman pursed his lips as he thought. ‘Do you think the confession was for real?’
‘What would she gain by lying when she’s about to die?’
Norman nodded. ‘Fair comment, but why didn’t she come forward before? Why wait all this time?’
‘She told Steve she didn’t want her husband to find out, and he stopped saying she was with him after that.’
‘And she was prepared to let him go down for murder? Jeez, she must have been some piece of work.’
‘Yes, you could say that,’ Debbie agreed.
‘And what about the car?’ asked Norman. ‘That’s a powerful piece of evidence, don’t you think?’
‘Steve swears he never drove down there. He says he couldn’t drive it anywhere because he was waiting to have his brakes repaired.’
‘So how was his number plate seen?’ asked Norman.
‘I have no idea,’ she said, bitterly. ‘That’s why I need help.’
Norman considered for a few seconds. ‘Let me be honest with you, Debbie,’ he began. ‘If your brother’s alibi is dead, and the priest has vanished, we have no way of offering an alternative scenario even if we could prove the car wasn’t there. I don’t see how I’m going to be able to help, and I won’t take your money just for the sake of it.’
‘When I realised the confession wouldn’t be any good without proof, I managed to get a newspaper to do an article about my brother. It was my last resort. The thing is, someone read the article and contacted me,’ she said. ‘He claims to know someone who was boasting about being paid fifty thousand pounds to kill a woman in a caravan.’
Norman sat forward in his chair. ‘What exactly do you mean, he claims to know someone?’
‘He did six months in prison, and while he was in there, his cellmate confessed to having been paid to kill a woman in a caravan ten years ago.’
‘Let me guess – the police say he’s not a credible witness,’ said Norman.
She nodded. ‘They warned me to expect more than one con man to come along offering information for money, and it turns out the man in question was guilty of fraud.’
‘I’m afraid ex-cons always have something of a “credible witness” problem,’ explained Norman, ‘and being inside for fraud makes it worse. I can understand where the police are coming from.’
‘The defence team won’t take it any further without more proof,’ added Debbie. ‘That’s why I’m hoping you can help me.’
‘So where is this guy?’ asked Norman. ‘Does he have a name?’
‘His name is Peter Brooks.’
‘And how much is he demanding for his information?’
Debbie sighed. ‘You sound just like the police again, but what if he’s telling the truth? He says he doesn’t want a penny.’
‘You truly believe your brother is innocent, don’t you?’ asked Norman.
‘Yes, I do. I always have. I know Steve’s not perfect, Mr Norman, but he’s no murderer. Will you help me?’
Norman considered again. He had to admit, he was intrigued by the story, and there was no denying the sincerity behind her belief that her brother was innocent. And let’s face it, he wasn’t exactly overloaded with work right now, was he?
‘Having the car seen in the area is going to be a big problem,’ he said, finally, ‘but I am intrigued by your story. I’ll tell you what I’ll do – if you can give me some details about the police officers involved, I might be able to pull a few strings and get hold of the case files. I’ll also see what I can find out about Peter Brooks.’
She reached down for the bag at her side and lifted it onto her lap. ‘I was hoping you might be interested,’ she said, rummaging in the bag, ‘so I have some stuff that might help.’ She produced three folders from the bag. ‘Steve’s defence team weren’t prepared to spend any money to get this investigated, but one of the secretaries took pity on me. She made copies of the evidence the police put forward at the trial, the trial transcript, and just about everything else they have. I’ve also added a file of my own stuff: newspaper cuttings, photographs, the name of the priest and his last known whereabouts, and the email from Peter Brooks.’
Norman couldn’t stop the broad smile that spread across his face.
* * *
Norman yawned expansively, leaned back in his chair, and stretched. He looked at the clock and was surprised to find it was after 5 p.m. He had spent the entire day at his desk studying the information Debbie Thomas had left with him, and he had been so engrossed he hadn’t realised how late it was.
It felt good to be back in the old routine: sifting through information, looking for clues. At last, he had a real case to investigate, and for the first time in weeks, he felt the old buzz of excitement about his work. Maybe this would be the one that opened a few doors for him.
He wanted to get started right away, but experience told him now would be a good time to close the files, shut down for the day, and go home. He would sleep on it tonight, let his subconscious mull it all over, and then start again in the morning.
Carefully, he placed everything back in the correct folders and then stacked them neatly to one side of his desk. He sat back and admired the orderliness of it. Being neat and tidy was a new experience for Norman, and as it didn’t come naturally to him, it was what you might call a work in progress.
It was a habit he had been encouraged to develop by Jane Jolly, his girlfriend. Jane had three children, and she had made it clear to Norman that if he was going to become part of their lives, he had to be prepared to do his share of keeping things tidy. For someone as naturally untidy as Norman, this should have been the ultimate challenge, but the truth was he was happy to do anything that would make her happy.
Now he was in his fifties, Norman felt the idea of having a ‘girlfriend’ didn’t quite sound right, but what else should he call her? Maybe ‘partner’ would be more appropriate, but then he didn’t want it to appear he was taking her for granted. Although he had been spending a lot of time with her, it was still early days, and he was trying desperately hard to get things right.
He was about to shut down his computer when he realised there was an email waiting in his inbox. He wondered how long it had been there, and, as he was about to close up for the night, he thought about ignoring it, but curiosity got the better of him. He clicked the icon and leaned forward to see who the sender was. To his surprise, it was from Dave Slater, and for a moment he thought again about leaving it until the morning.
He had become increasingly irritated with Slater, who, apart from two or three vague emails, had kept Norman in the dark about what he was doing and what his plans were. Norman was living in Slater’s house when he wasn’t at Jane’s house, but what was he supposed to do if Jane asked him to move in with her? He wasn’t even sure if Slater intended to come back.
Then he felt guilty as he recalled how Slater hadn’t even hesitated for a moment when Norman had needed somewhere to stay, and who had been there for him when he’d had his heart attack? Slater, of course. Okay, so the guy could be impetuous, but whenever Norman had been in trouble, he was always the first one there beside him, ready to drop everything and help. Guiltily, he opened the message.
Are you free tonight? My flight arrives Gatwick at 23.00. Can you pick me up? If not, no problem, let me know, and I’ll hire a car.
For a moment, Norman wondered how Slater had managed to send an email from mid-air, then noticed the message had been sitting in his inbox, unnoticed, since eleven o’clock that morning. He wondered how he had managed to miss it, but then realised that was what happens when you turn off the notification sounds on your computer. Maybe silencing those annoying beeps wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
‘And so the wanderer returns,’ he muttered. ‘I suppose I’ll have to go and pick him up.’
In truth, Norman hated the nights when he didn’t see Jane and the kids, and being Wednesday, this was one of those nights, so he was actually pleased to have something to do toni
ght. Plus, he had to admit he had missed Slater.
Norman shut down his computer, switched off the lights, locked up the office, and climbed into his car. As he put the car into gear, he realised he was smiling, and he was whistling too.
Chapter 2
It was only as he reached Gatwick Airport and parked his car that it occurred to Norman Slater’s car should be here somewhere. It would be in one of the long-term car parks, but even so, if he did have a car here, why would he need picking up? As he walked across to the terminal, Norman hoped this wasn’t going to be a wasted journey. If he had come all the way up here for nothing, he would be seriously annoyed.
At this time of night, the airport was relatively quiet, and he knew there wouldn’t be the usual daytime crowds of people waiting for arriving passengers. He stopped to buy a coffee, then made his way to the seating area, from where he could watch the arrivals. He reasoned this was the right approach to take as he was supposed to be irritated with Slater and shouldn’t appear too keen to see him.
As the clock ticked on and the time approached when Norman expected his friend to appear, he began to watch the arriving passengers more closely. At first, they arrived in ones and twos, but after a while, the numbers swelled as they all cleared customs together. Among them, a well-tanned woman with short bleached-blonde hair caught his eye. For a moment, his instincts told him he should know her, and on another day, he may well have paid her a bit more attention, but then he remembered he was here to meet his friend, not admire passing women.
It was another fifteen minutes before a deeply tanned man with a scruffy beard and straggly hair emerged. He was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, and was dragging a suitcase behind him. It was only when the man stopped to gaze around and then waved to him that Norman recognised him.
Before he had left England, Slater had remarked on going to ‘the promised land’, and ever since, Norman had harboured a fear that maybe he was going off to join a cult of some sort. Looking at Slater now, he thought perhaps he had been right to be concerned, but despite his friend’s wild appearance, there was no doubting the sincerity of his greeting, and the hug was long and heartfelt. When he finally let go, Norman took a step back and looked him up and down.
‘Come on, then, let’s hear it,’ said Slater. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me I’ve let myself go.’
‘Actually, I was thinking how well you were looking. I’m not sure about the beard, but I wouldn’t mind looking half as fit and healthy.’
‘I’ll take that, Norm, but you don’t look so bad yourself. Being with Jane must be good for you.’
Norman smiled shyly. ‘I have to admit, it does add a bit of a spring to my step,’ he agreed. ‘I can’t help noticing you’re not exactly dressed for February in England, are you?’
Slater gave him a wry smile. ‘It was thirty degrees when I left Thailand. I had intended to get changed before we landed, but I got distracted, and then it was too late.’
‘Distracted? That sounds intriguing.’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Slater. ‘You had to be there.’
Norman watched his face for a clue, but Slater stared back blankly. He wasn’t going to elaborate.
‘I should warn you – it’s freezing out there,’ said Norman. ‘Do you have anything more suitable to wear?’
‘I have some jeans in my case if you don’t mind waiting while I change.’
‘Another five minutes won’t matter. I have nothing to rush back for tonight.’
A few minutes later, they were heading for the car park.
‘So how come you needed me to collect you? I thought your car was up here in long-term parking.’
He could see the discomfort on Slater’s face. ‘Ah, yeah, it was,’ he said, vaguely.
‘But it’s not now?’
‘Er, no.’
‘Has it been stolen?’
‘No. Watson landed at Gatwick without a car. She asked me if she could borrow mine to get home.’
Watson, aka DS Samantha Brearley, had been Slater’s partner at his old job, before he had walked out.
Norman shook his head in surprise. ‘You let her borrow your Range Rover?’
‘It’s no big deal. She’s used to driving it. She often drove it when we were working together. I trust her with it.’
‘Yeah, but even so. I mean, you wouldn’t be so keen to let me drive it.’
‘No offence, Norm, but I don’t have enough fingers to count the number of dents in your car.’
Norman couldn’t argue with that. He never claimed to be the world’s best driver, but he knew he was on to something, and he wasn’t going to let it go. He was sure he had just put two and two together, and he wanted to see what Slater was going to say. ‘How did she get to Gatwick in the first place?’
‘What?’
‘You said she landed at Gatwick without a car. Presumably, she’s been away somewhere, and the flight was to and from Gatwick. I’m curious to know how she got to Gatwick in the first place. People usually have transport arranged – they don’t fly into Gatwick on the off-chance someone’s going to lend them a Range Rover to get home.’
Slater stopped walking and turned to face him. ‘Seriously, are you pissed off just because I let her borrow my car?’
Norman laughed. ‘Of course not. Even I wouldn’t lend me a Range Rover. I’m curious, that’s all. I mean, how did you get the key to her? Or, does she have her own? I could swear the spare is in the key drawer at home.’
He waited for a response, but Slater seemed to be struggling for words.
‘And another thing,’ continued Norman. ‘You couldn’t have emailed me from the sky, right? So, you must have known this morning that she was going to borrow your car.’
Even behind Slater’s beard and the deep suntan, Norman could see his cheeks reddening. He looked away from Norman and stared up at the sky for inspiration. Norman guffawed loudly and slapped him on the shoulder.
‘Don’t tell me – it was an amazing coincidence, right? She landed at the same time as you, and I suppose you just happened to bump into her, and as luck would have it, you had emailed me to come and meet you just in case this should happen. Am I close?’
Slater stared at the grinning Norman and knew the game was up. ‘You knew all the time, didn’t you?’
‘I saw a familiar face coming through arrivals,’ Norman confessed as they started walking again. ‘I knew I should know her, but I couldn’t think who she was at the time. Then, when I asked about the car and you mentioned her name, the penny dropped. Hey, look, there’s no need to be embarrassed, I’m not going to tell anyone. Has she been out there all the time?’
‘God, no, she would have lost her job. She had some leave, so she came out for the last ten days.’
‘You can tell me to mind my own business, but my curiosity is getting the better of me now. Has this been going on for long?’
‘If you mean, was I having a relationship with my junior officer? Not at all. We were very professional while we were working together, but once I quit … well, that’s when we told each other what we were thinking.’
‘So, when you said about going to the promised land that day—’
‘I wasn’t talking about Thailand. That came after.’
‘What happens now?’
‘She’s gone back to start a new job, and I’ve come home.’
‘And that’s it?’ asked Norman. ‘You let her take your car, and you don’t even know if you’ll see her again?’
Slater smiled. ‘Yeah, I guess that’s about the size of it. It’s just a car, Norm. Anyway, I trust her. I know she’ll get it back to me in one piece.’
‘Yeah, but when?’
‘I dunno,’ Slater admitted. ‘Whenever it gets here, I guess. And just so you know, you haven’t uncovered some big, secret romance.’
‘I haven’t?’
‘We’re just two consenting adults who fancied spending a few days together, with no strings attac
hed.’
They had reached the car now, and as they loaded Slater’s case into the boot, Norman shook his head. ‘And that’s it? You spend ten nights with a beautiful woman and then you go your separate ways?’
‘It’s not that hard to understand, Norm. Sam’s a career girl, and no one is going to get in the way of that.’
‘What about you?’
Slater gave a wry smile. ‘Have you ever known me keep a relationship going for long?’
‘Jeez, I don’t think I’ll ever understand you and women.’
‘Ha! I’ve never been able to, Norm, so what makes you think you can?’
* * *
As they headed back towards Tinton, Slater listened as Norman told him about his developing relationship with Jane Jolly and her three children. Norman was happier than Slater had ever seen him, and he was immensely pleased for his friend. If any couple deserved to be together, it was Norm and Jane. They’d been through some crappy times through no fault of their own, and he genuinely wished them the best.
‘Hey, listen to me,’ said Norman, about an hour into the journey. ‘I’ve done nothing but talk, and you can’t get a word in anywhere.’
‘It’s good to hear you sounding happy,’ said Slater. ‘I’m pleased it’s all working out for you and Jane on the romantic front, but what are you doing for work?’
Now Norman felt uncomfortable. He had been hoping they might avoid that subject, at least until the morning. ‘Remember that office we were cleaning up? Well, I finally got one room finished and opened for business.’
‘As a detective?’
Norman wasn’t sure if he could hear any sarcasm in the question. ‘Yeah, as a detective. What else would I be doing?’
‘Have you got much work?’
‘I’m getting by,’ said Norman, vaguely.
Slater looked across at him. ‘You mean you haven’t got any work, right?’
This was definitely without sarcasm. ‘I could give you a load of bullshit, but I’ll be honest and admit I haven’t had any real detective work. In fact, the only job I’ve been working the last couple of weeks is one I’d rather not have – spying on some guy whose wife thinks he’s cheating on her.’