The Kidney Donor (Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 8)

by P. F. Ford

  ‘He said Ginger was starving, right?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Hasn’t eaten for days,’ Norman confirmed.

  Slater looked pleased with himself. ‘And where do these guys go if they want breakfast?’

  Norman looked blank for a moment and then a smile filled his face as he remembered. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘The bakery in town!’

  ‘Right,’ said Slater. ‘My guess would be that at least one of them will be there bright and early in the morning. We just need to make sure we’re there too.’

  They walked back into the now almost-deserted hall. It seemed the brief appearance of the two heavies had unsettled everyone enough to make them want to eat up and leave as soon as they could. Chris and Diane were just finishing setting a table for the four of them.

  ‘No luck?’ asked Chris.

  ‘Long gone,’ said Norman. ‘And we’ll never find them now. It’s a pity we don’t know where to find this squat of Ginger’s.’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t help you there,’ said Chris. ‘I couldn’t even tell you which part of town to start looking.’

  ‘Have you any idea who those two men were?’ asked Diane.

  ‘Never seen them before,’ said Slater. ‘I thought I knew all the thugs around here, so maybe these two are from out of town.’

  ‘But what were they doing here? Were they looking for Ryan?’

  ‘That’s the million-dollar question,’ he said. ‘Were they looking for him or, as Norm says, is he just so paranoid, he’s going to run from everyone?’

  ‘Wouldn’t they have waited outside if they were looking for someone in particular?’ asked Chris.

  ‘The last thing we need is a couple of thugs hanging around trying to intimidate people,’ said Diane.

  ‘One of them said they’d been told not to cause a scene,’ said Norman. ‘That suggests they’re working for someone, but it doesn’t necessarily mean there’s going to be trouble. It could be as simple as someone looking for a lost relative.’

  They helped themselves to food and settled at the table.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the authorities,’ said Chris. ‘They’ve asked me to bury Morgan.’

  ‘That’s a bit quick, isn’t it?’ asked Slater.

  ‘They’ve decided on a cause of death, but they have no idea who he is, and there seems to be no family. It’s as if the man didn’t exist.’

  ‘Which is suspicious in itself, isn’t it?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Maybe they’re hoping the sooner he’s out of the way, the sooner they can forget about him,’ suggested Norman.

  ‘I agree with you,’ said Chris, ‘but they have insisted the corpse should be buried and not cremated. The problem is, it’s going to be a pretty quiet funeral. I think he at least deserves to have a few people there to see him off. I was wondering if you two would mind coming along.’

  ‘Count me in,’ said Norman. ‘Maybe we should ask some of these homeless guys, too.’

  Slater had stopped eating and was staring at his plate. He was recalling the last two funerals he had attended. The first, a year or so ago, had been that of a little old man he hadn’t really known, who had died alone. Norm had been there too. The second, just a couple of short weeks ago, had also been a man he hadn’t really known.

  ‘What about you, Dave?’ asked Chris.

  Slater looked up and realised all eyes were on him. ‘What? Oh, yeah, I’ll be there,’ he said.

  The rest of the meal passed in a gloomy silence as Chris and Diane pondered the possibilities posed by the appearance of the two unwelcome men. Diane’s face told everyone she could see nothing but problems ahead. Meanwhile, Slater was equally gloomy as he remembered that recent funeral. Norman seemed aware something was bothering Slater, but he didn’t ask any questions.

  When they had finished eating, Chris made his excuses and left. Apparently someone was in need of comfort as a relative quietly slipped away.

  ‘All part of the service,’ he had told them. ‘Albeit not a particularly enjoyable part.’

  It was shortly after ten when Slater and Norman walked Diane home, convinced her the heavies were long gone, and then climbed into Slater’s car and headed for home.

  ‘You wanna talk about it?’ asked Norman once they were on the road, looking across at Slater carefully.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Whatever it is that’s bothering you,’ said Norman. ‘You’ve hardly said a word since Chris mentioned burying Morgan.’

  ‘You know I hate funerals,’ said Slater.

  ‘And that’s all it is?’ asked Norman.

  Slater grunted what Norman assumed was a yes.

  ‘I have to say they’re not exactly my favourite social function either,’ Norman said, cheerfully. ‘I was recalling that last one we attended. Do you remember? That little old guy with the sister who used to walk the town like a ghost. What was her name?’

  ‘Florence,’ said Slater.

  ‘That’s her,’ said Norman. ‘Was that your last one too?’

  ‘No,’ said Slater. ‘I’ve been to another one since then.’

  ‘Oh, really? You kept that quiet. Who was it?’

  ‘It was a relative I hadn’t seen in a long time.’

  ‘Were you close?’

  ‘A long time ago, yeah,’ said Slater. ‘Then we sort of lost touch, until recently.’

  ‘If you want to talk about it, you know I’m a good listener, right?’

  ‘Yeah, I know that, Norm, but I’m not sure there’s much to talk about really. It happens, doesn’t it? You lose touch with people, and then years later you wish you hadn’t. It’s a fact of life.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ agreed Norman, ‘but if you change your mind, right?’

  ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  Although it was a dual carriageway, the Tinton bypass only had street lights where the road approached the main roundabout at either end of the town, so there was stretch about a mile and a half long that had no lights at all. They were on that stretch now, heading north towards Norman’s end of town. Norman looked ahead into the night-time gloom with only the headlights to cut a path of light in front of them. There were no other lights to be seen, either behind them or coming the other way down the opposite carriageway.

  He knew this road well enough to know there was a lay-by on the left somewhere here. Right on cue, he saw the kerb peel away to the left and, involuntarily, his eyes followed it into the gloom. It was right on the edge of the beam from the headlights, a few yards into the lay-by, that something caught his eye. He turned his head to try to get a better view but, of course, whatever he had seen was now in darkness. It had been the colour that had attracted his eye at first, and the apparent texture of the material. And at one end there had been something else, a different texture and a mixture of colours. He thought he should know what it was . . .

  ‘Stop the car!’ he said.

  Slater hit the brakes almost immediately and the front of the car dipped as it rapidly lost speed. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Back there, in that lay-by. I think I saw something. Can we go back?’

  ‘I can’t reverse up a dual carriageway, Norm,’ said Slater, then he thought for a moment. ‘It’s okay. I’ll pull in up here and reverse back down the lay-by.’

  He stopped the car at the far end of the lay-by and carefully reversed into it and back along its length. They both craned their necks to look through the back window. The reversing lights weren’t fantastic, but they were better than nothing. They were over halfway along the length of the lay-by now, and Norman was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined it.

  ‘Slow down,’ he called suddenly. ‘There! On the left.’

  Slater peered into the darkness. ‘Can I get past it?’ he asked. ‘We’ll be able to see much better with the headlights.’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Norman. ‘Let me get out and have a look.’

  Slater stopped the car and Norman, moving with surprising speed, slipped from the car and ran back behi
nd it. Two seconds later he was puffing back up to the passenger side.

  ‘It’s a body,’ he said. ‘Looks like there’s been some sort of accident. If you get right over to the kerb on your side, you can easily get past. We’re gonna need those headlights to see what’s what.’

  He slammed the door closed and ran back behind the car again. Slater turned the steering wheel over as far as he could and crept up onto the kerb on his side, then reversed back until he could see Norman, down on his knees, next to what looked like a large bundle of rags. He swung the car to his left so the lights were pointing directly at Norman and edged as close as he dared before he snapped on the handbrake and turned off the engine.

  ‘What have we got?’ he asked Norman as he sank down next to him.

  ‘It’s Doddsy,’ said Norman, in dismay. ‘What the hell’s he doing out here?’

  ‘Has he been hit by a car?’

  ‘I can’t tell. But he’s in a bad way. His pulse is weak and his breathing’s pretty ragged.’

  ‘See what you can do for him. I’ll call an ambulance,’ said Slater, getting to his feet, and heading for the car.

  Norman was working frantically on Doddsy, pumping his chest to try and keep his heart going. After a few seconds, Doddsy’s eyes fluttered open and he coughed weakly.

  ‘Doddsy, can you hear me?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Norm? Is that you?’ whispered Doddsy, feebly.

  ‘Yeah, it’s me,’ said Norman. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  ‘I didn’t see them coming. Beat the crap out of me, and then brought me all the way out here.’

  ‘Who? Who did this?’ asked Norman, relieved that he could stop pumping Doddsy’s chest.

  ‘I didn’t see,’ he said.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘I dunno. Two? Three? Took me from behind, otherwise I’d ’ave kicked their arses, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Sure you would,’ said Norman.

  Doddsy’s eyelids fluttered for a second and then closed.

  ‘You’re not gonna die on me, Doddsy,’ said Norman desperately, beginning another round of chest-pumping. ‘You’re too bloody young for that.’

  He stopped for a second and patted the young man’s cheek. ‘Come on, come on, talk to me!’ he pleaded, before beginning his frantic chest-pounding again.

  Doddsy coughed once again, and his eyes opened. ‘Gawd, Norm, it fuckin’ hurts,’ he wheezed. ‘Am I gonna die?’

  Norman stopped to reply, but as soon as he did, Doddsy faded again, so he quickly got back to work. ‘Not if I can bloody well help it,’ he panted, as he began to feel the strain from his efforts.

  ‘Move over, Norm,’ said Slater, gently, alongside him. ‘Let me have a go. The ambulance is on its way.’

  Norman moved gratefully aside as Slater edged into position and took over massaging the failing heart. In the distance, its sound carrying a long, long way in the dead of night, they could hear a siren.

  ‘Stay with me, Doddsy,’ said Norman. ‘They’re on the way. I can hear them. Come on, talk to me.’

  Doddsy grimaced as he opened his eyes once more. Slater sat back, relieved.

  ‘Tell Ryan, I never told ’em nuffink,’ hissed Doddsy, this time through gritted teeth.

  ‘Is that what they wanted to know?’ asked Norman. ‘Where Ryan was?’

  ‘Tell ’im they won’t find ’im because of me. I told ’em nuffink. Did I do alright?’

  ‘Yeah, you did great, Doddsy,’ said Norman, sadly.

  ‘Will you tell ’im I made the grade?’

  ‘Yeah, I promise I’ll make sure I tell him. He’ll be proud of you.’

  And then they watched, helplessly, as Doddsy closed his eyes one more time and, like a candle that had just been snuffed out, his light seemed to fade and die right before their eyes. The ambulance was getting closer now, so Slater made sure he didn’t stop pumping. Maybe, just maybe, they could pull off some sort of miracle.

  When they arrived, the paramedics took over with cool professionalism.

  But it was no use. On arrival at the hospital, Doddsy was pronounced dead.

  Chapter Five

  ‘What do you mean he was hit by a car?’ asked Norman. ‘He told me he had been attacked from behind by two or three men.’

  ‘Look, Norm, I’m not trying to suggest you don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the newly promoted DS Steve Biddeford. ‘What I’m saying is your dead guy was telling you a story. He might even have believed he was jumped by some guys, but the truth is he was as high as a bloody kite so you’d have to take anything he said with a pinch of salt. On top of that, all our forensic evidence suggests he was hit by a car at the entrance to the lay-by, and the car dragged him along to the point where you found him. It looks as if it was just another accident involving a down-and-out druggie.’

  ‘The guy was not a druggie,’ said Norman, vehemently. ‘I’ve known him for several months, and I have never had reason to think he was taking drugs.’

  Biddeford sighed and glanced at the unfamiliar surroundings of the Station Cafe. It was the day after Norman and Slater had found Doddsy in the lay-by, and despite working his arse off all day, he had been unable to find a shred of evidence to back up the story Doddsy had told Norman as he lay dying.

  ‘I can’t make a case where there isn’t one, Norm,’ he insisted. ‘You know how it works. We’ve put a couple of signs up near the scene of the accident asking for any information. There’s not much more we can do.’

  ‘A couple of signs?’ said Slater. ‘Wow! Are you sure you can go to all that expense?’

  Biddeford gave Slater a baleful glare, but Slater merely glared straight back.

  ‘What about the fact his sleeves had been cut off?’ asked Norman.

  Biddeford reluctantly drew his eyes from Slater and back to Norman. ‘He was off his head. Maybe he thought he was making some sort of fashion statement.’

  ‘When you’re homeless and you only have one coat and winter’s coming, you don’t cut your sleeves off,’ said Norman, his voice strained.

  ‘This one did,’ said Biddeford.

  ‘So, what are you really saying here? That these homeless guys just aren’t worth wasting your precious time on? Is that it?’

  ‘Give me a break. You know that’s not true.’

  ‘Do I?’ asked Norman. ‘What about the guy who died in the skip? I didn’t see anyone busting a gut to find out what happened there.’

  ‘The guy had a hurricane lamp in a bin full of bone-dry paper,’ said Biddeford. ‘He fell asleep and knocked it over.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ Norman let out a hollow laugh. ‘Where did the lamp come from? Are you suggesting he carried it around with him all the time? Have you ever seen one of these guys carrying something like that around with him?’

  ‘The guy had been living in the skip for weeks–’

  ‘It’s not the same guy!’ Norman’s voice was getting louder. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? And the guy who was living there did not have a hurricane lamp. I know that for a fact.’

  Now Biddeford was getting irritated. ‘And how many times do I have to tell you I’ll believe you when you bring this guy to me! How come there’s a fire and the guy disappears? Tell me that.’

  ‘I told you. His name’s Ryan. The dead guy is called Morgan. It’s not the same damned man!’

  ‘So, where is this “Ryan” then?’

  ‘He’s on the run because he believes he was the intended victim.’

  ‘No,’ said Biddeford. ‘He’s disappeared because he was the crispy cracker we found in the skip. It’s just that you won’t believe it.’ He turned to Slater. ‘Will you tell him?’

  ‘I think the respect you show for the victim is telling us all we need to know about how seriously you’re taking this investigation,’ snapped Norman, shaking his head.

  Now it was Norman’s turn to exchange glares with Biddeford.

  ‘I can see where you’re coming
from, Steve,’ said Slater, ‘but it’s not that simple–’

  ‘For instance, if he’s dead, how come he turned up last night?’ Norman crossed his arms in front of him and glowered.

  ‘What?’ asked Biddeford.

  ‘Ryan. He turned up last night.’

  Biddeford looked doubtfully from Norman to Slater.

  ‘He was there,’ Slater said, coolly.

  Biddeford sighed. He really couldn’t decide if these two were just trying to waste his time and wind him up. ‘So why don’t you bring him to me and prove it?’

  ‘Like I said, he was there,’ said Slater.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Where is he now?’

  ‘We’re not sure. He ran away before we got a chance to ask him to come and speak to you.’

  Biddeford sat back and folded his arms across his chest. So they were taking the piss . . .

  ‘We’d just got Ryan settled at a table with his meal when these two hard guys turned up in the doorway,’ explained Norman.

  ‘This would be the same two guys you reckon beat up your mate Doddsy, would it?’ asked Biddeford, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Dave and I went over and told them to clear off, and when we looked back, he’d done a bunk out through the fire exit.’

  Biddeford gave them a knowing smile. ‘That’s very convenient, isn’t it?’ Who is he really, this Ryan? The Invisible Man?’

  ‘You think we’re bullshitting, don’t you?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Well, it has crossed my mind, that you two might just feel the need to waste my time. I mean first you have a guy called Ryan who’s never around when you want him, and now you’re asking me to believe there are two thugs who seem to have appeared from nowhere and are just as invisible as your mate Ryan. This is all a wind up, isn’t it? Just for old time’s sake, you know?’

  ‘Can you hear yourself?’ asked Norman. He pointed at Slater. ‘He admits he can be childish–’

  ‘No, I don’t’ said Slater, indignantly.

  ‘–but he’s just a bloody beginner compared to you!’ continued Norman, ignoring Slater’s protestations. ‘When are you going to get over this stupid idea you have that we want to hold you back? We never have! We just want you to open your damned eyes and look properly at this case. Two homeless guys are dead, and at least one more seems to think his life is in danger, but all you care about is a grudge that doesn’t even exist!’