by P. F. Ford
‘I was careful. I made sure the service was long over and no one was around. I didn’t spot the CCTV in the church car park.’
‘There isn’t any there,’ said Norman. ‘You were caught on a camera at the front of the restaurant just across the road.’
‘Ha! Well, that’s just typical of my luck,’ she said, defeat heavy in her voice.
‘Going back to what Morgan told you about trying to make amends,’ said Slater, carefully. ‘Do you have any idea what that might have meant? Did he mean he had to come to Tinton to do whatever it was?’
‘I haven’t a clue. All he said was, “I’m going to do my best to make amends”. He said it several times, but he didn’t go into any details about what exactly that meant.’
‘Well, if he was coming to see you, at least now we have a reason for him coming here,’ said Norman. ‘Up until now, it had seemed like a random decision, but this makes a bit more sense. I just wish we knew what had happened that he needed to make amends for.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you all I can. I really don’t think I can help you any further.’
Slater looked across at Norman, who nodded his head and began to rise from his chair.
‘Thank you very much,’ said Slater, getting to his feet. ‘You’ve been very helpful. I must apologise for any offence I may have caused. You’re quite right, I shouldn’t judge without knowing all the facts.’
‘I should give up on the grovelling sincerity, Mr Slater,’ she said. ‘It really doesn’t suit you, and I don’t believe it any more than you do.’
His face reddened, but he chose not to comment. He knew she was right.
‘What did you make of that?’ asked Slater, as Norman drove the car away from her house.
‘What did I make of what?’ asked Norman. ‘You trying to piss her off? She could easily have called a halt right there and then and thrown us out. Did you think of that?’
‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I mean, she knows we know about Coulter and yet she comes out with all that bollocks about repairing her marriage, and how she had to think of her husband . . .’
‘I know. I was there,’ said Norman. ‘But we have to keep our opinions to ourselves, don’t we? Jeez, how long have you been doing this?’
‘Alright, alright, I was in the wrong,’ admitted Slater. ‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I just hate people being so bloody hypocritical.’
At this point, Slater would normally have gone off into a sulk, but that was before. Now he was a different person – he was determined to make sure it didn’t happen.
‘Anyway,’ he said, taking a deep breath, ‘As I said, what did you think?’
‘I think that woman’s a terrible hypocrite,’ said Norman, with a wicked grin.
Slater gave him a sideways look and caught the grin. ‘Yeah, right,’ he said, grinning himself.
‘I think she knows more than she’s letting on,’ said Norman, ‘but I’m not sure what about. Does that make sense?’
‘That’s exactly what I was thinking. I’m sure she’s telling the truth about Morgan, so I wonder what it is she’s not telling us about?’
‘It could be anything,’ said Norman. ‘But we know Coulter’s around, and that’s enough to make me think I should put all my money on him.’
‘You think he’s blackmailing her?’
‘I certainly wouldn’t put it past him. The thing is, do we want to know? I mean, we could waste a lot of time poking around only to find she actually wants to be his bit on the side.’
‘Nah,’ said Slater. ‘She’s way too classy to choose to be with a creep like him. She could do so much better if she wanted.’
‘Maybe she likes a bit of rough,’ said Norman. ‘Let’s face it, there must even be a woman somewhere who would even go for a guy like you.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry,’ said Slater, rising easily to the bait, ‘I’ve got them knocking on my door, mate.’
‘Oh really?’ said Norman, glancing across at Slater. ‘Now that is interesting. Are you going to tell me who these women are?’
Slater blushed, guiltily.
‘Jeez, you really have? Why would you be embarrassed about that? Oh no, it’s not a married woman is it? And you’ve just been complaining about hypocrites . . .’
‘No, it’s not a bloody married woman,’ said Slater, testily, ‘and I am not a hypocrite. Now can we get back to this case?’
‘Ooh,’ said Norman, obviously enjoying playing Slater, as usual. ‘I wonder – if I push one more button, do you think it will give us lift-off?’
‘I’m not going to give you the satisfaction,’ said Slater. ‘I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m not playing your game. Now, can we get back to the subject that’s really interesting?’
‘But this is interesting,’ said Norman.
‘Trust me, it’s not.’
Norman glanced across at Slater and gave him a calculated look before nodding. ‘But we’re no further forward, are we? I mean, we’ve got two murders and no motive for either of them. Apart from them both being homeless, the only connection seems to be one was in the SAS and the other was an SAS wannabee, if that is a connection.’
‘I still don’t get why Doddsy’s sleeves had been cut off. That seems to be a bit unnecessary, especially if it was a hit-and-run. Why would the driver get out of the car and remove the guy’s sleeves?’
‘But it wasn’t a hit-and-run in the strictest sense, was it? Okay, the guy was run down, but it didn’t look like an accident to me, especially if you believe some of what Doddsy said. It was more like someone used their car to knock him down, and then when he was lying in the road, they questioned him and cut off his sleeves.’
‘Yeah, but why the sleeves? There were no marks on his arms, so it’s not as if they were cutting him or anything.’
‘Maybe they were looking to see if he shoots up,’ suggested Norman. ‘Biddeford said he was high as a kite, right? Maybe they injected him.’
‘You spoke to Doddsy before he died,’ said Slater. ‘Did he sound as if he was off his head?’
‘He did come out with all that crap about three guys jumping on him from nowhere,’ recalled Norman, ‘but then he always embroidered everything with an amount of exaggeration.’
‘So that wasn’t unusual, then?’
‘Very normal, now I come to think about it. He did smell of booze, but that wasn’t unusual either.’
‘We need to find out if he really was high,’ said Slater.
‘You’re the one who knows the pathologist.’
‘Yeah, I do, but I wonder how many times I can get away with asking him before he says no or gets in the shit.’
‘The police aren’t interested in this case, are they? So why would they care if you speak to Eamon?’
‘I just don’t want to push him too far.’
‘So ask him,’ said Norman. ‘Be honest. I have no more desire to screw up his position than you do, but he can help us with this.’
‘Alright,’ said Slater. ‘I’ll check with him in the morning.’
‘And I’ll see if I can find out what Coulter’s up to. Maybe if I can find out what he was ranting about earlier it might help.’
‘You mean about his son being in Afghanistan?’ said Slater. ‘You think his son was SAS? You don’t have to be one of those guys to get sent there, you know. There can’t be many people in the forces who haven’t been sent there.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Norman. ‘It’s probably just a coincidence, but it’s worth a shot. I think I still have one friend in the Met who might be able to help me out.’
‘Okay, let’s meet up at my place around lunchtime.’
Chapter Eight
It was just after midday when Norman arrived at Slater’s house. He had gone through Slater’s kitchen cupboards, and to his dismay, found nothing worth eating, so, at his insistence, they were now in his favourite pub. And, at his insistence, they had finished lunch before
they got down to business.
‘Did Eamon come up with anything interesting?’ he asked Slater.
‘He says Doddsy had booze in his system, but not a great deal, and he definitely wasn’t off his head on any drugs, unless there’s some new undetectable drug they’ve never seen before.’
‘So Steve Biddeford gave us a load of bullshit about that,’ said Norman, thoughtfully. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because he doesn’t want to waste his time on trivialities like homeless people,’ suggested Slater, grimly. ‘Perhaps he thinks they’re a waste of space, and a waste of his time.’
‘Jeez, you really think so?’
‘I’m afraid he’s never had much time for anyone he regards as lower class.’
‘Do you think Goodnews knows about this?’
‘How would I know?’ asked Slater, evasively. ‘What makes you think I’ve spoken to her?’
Norman looked at Slater thoughtfully. ‘Nothing. I wasn’t suggesting you’ve been discussing the case with her, it’s just that you know how she works. Would she take his word for it? Or would she check all the reports herself?’
‘Up until a couple of months ago, she would have made the time to read those reports,’ said Slater. ‘But now she’s under so much pressure from above, I don’t know. Last time I spoke to her she said her job was on the line. That should mean she’s being extra careful.’
‘Yeah, but then again, she’s never been under real pressure before, has she? Suppose she’s cracking under the strain and struggling to cope with it all?’
‘You think?’
‘Hell, who knows what strange decisions she might make in those circumstances.’ Norman shrugged. ‘Maybe Biddeford’s taking advantage of the situation to pull the wool over her eyes because it’s a case he doesn’t want to have to deal with.’
‘D’you think he’d do that? She’s just got him promoted. What about loyalty?’
‘Aw come on, Dave. You, of all people, should know his only loyalty is to himself. It’s as if you look at him through rose-tinted glasses. Maybe you need to take them off for once and take a look at the real Steve Biddeford.’
‘You really think he’s that bad?’
‘I think you always give him the benefit of the doubt because you trained him,’ said Norman.
‘I didn’t train him to be like that,’ said Slater.
‘I know you didn’t, but he’s no longer under your influence. Now he’s been let off the leash, his true colours are really showing.’
‘So what do you suggest we do?’
‘About Biddeford? Nothing,’ said Norman. ‘Who’s gonna listen to us? I suggest we solve this case ourselves, then maybe we can take the evidence to Goodnews. He’s her problem, let her sort him out.’
Slater could see his life suddenly getting a whole lot more complicated than he wanted it to be. There was just no way he could keep her a secret from Norm much longer, and somehow he couldn’t see her taking too kindly to him and Norm interfering in her investigations. It was going to be a nightmare.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Norman. ‘You look like you found a fiver and lost a twenty.’
‘Err, yeah. I’m just a bit disappointed about Steve, that’s all,’ said Slater, hurriedly, unable to think of anything better to say.
‘It’s not your fault. Like I said, let Goodnews deal with the problem. She deserves it.’ He smiled happily, clearly enjoying the thought of Goodnews having to deal with problems.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Slater, unhappily. He wondered how he was going to sort this mess out. At the moment, Norm knew nothing about his relationship with Marion Goodnews, and she knew nothing about him working with Norm. One thing was sure: he was going to have to put a lot of thought into how he broached the subject with either of them.
‘Did you manage to get hold of your friend in the Met?’ he asked, glad to have something else to think about.
‘Yes, I did,’ said Norman.
‘Did he have any info about Coulter?’
‘Oh, it was a very enlightening conversation. I’m not exactly sure how it helps us, but I’m sure he’s involved somehow. We just have to figure out how.’
‘Let’s hear it then.’
‘First, a little background on Coulter,’ said Norman. ‘He’s sixty-two years old, born in North London. His father was a well-known thug who used to run his own gang until he got too big for his boots and bit off more than he could chew. He took part in an armed bank raid, in the middle of the day. A woman customer in the bank took a shotgun blast at close range. She died on the spot. Every witness testified Coulter pulled the trigger. Even the other members of the gang who were caught all agreed Coulter was the shooter. In fact, it turned out he was the only one with a gun!’
‘So he got put away,’ said Slater.
‘For life. He was fifty-five then, and it happened thirty-five years ago, so in his case it really was life. He died inside, ten years ago.’
‘So what happened to young Stanley?’ asked Slater.
‘He was twenty-seven when his old man got put away. He was part of the gang, but on the periphery. It seems no one thought he was really interested in being a serious criminal, but as soon as his father was out of the way, he showed them what they had been missing. It turns out he was a much nastier bastard than his father ever was, and he had no trouble taking over.
‘Up until then, they’d been pretty small time, but Stan had been studying what made real money and how to hide the truth. He introduced some much subtler crimes and the gang began to make serious money. He even managed to make it look, from the outside, as if they’re legit, and that’s why he claims to be a legitimate businessman right now, even though he knows I know he isn’t.’
‘What about the personal stuff, like his own family?’
‘He has three sons,’ said Norman. ‘The oldest is his right-hand man. He oversees the day-to-day running of the business. Son number two is the one who disowned the family when he finally realised just how bent they are. He joined the army, and later the SAS. He died in Afghanistan just over a year ago.’
‘Now that’s interesting.’ Slater leaned forward.
‘Isn’t it?’ agreed Norman. ‘It has to be more than a coincidence that the SAS keeps cropping up, don’t you think?’
‘Must be. But how?’
‘Yeah, that’s the problem,’ said Norman. ‘But at least I think we may be starting to make some progress.’
‘What about son number three?’ asked Slater.
‘Apparently he’s in a pretty bad way. Some sort of illness. The word is he’s in a private hospital or nursing home down this way somewhere, and Stan Coulter spends a lot of time down here.’
‘So visiting Clara Sterling isn’t so far out of his comfort zone, after all?’
‘It looks that way.’
‘Do we know what’s wrong with the sick son?’
‘No,’ said Norman. ‘All my source knows is that he’s very sick, and rumour has it the condition could be terminal.’
‘So, one son dead, and another possibly dying,’ said Slater. ‘That could make a man like Stan Coulter pretty angry and pretty desperate.’
‘Yeah, I agree, but what would be the point in murdering homeless people? How is that going to help his sick son?’
‘Morgan had a kidney missing,’ said Slater. ‘What if it was used as a replacement?’
‘Huh?’
‘What if this younger Coulter has failing kidneys and needs a transplant?’
‘But you can’t just take someone off the street, chop out one of their kidneys, and hope it works as a replacement,’ said Norman. ‘Even a thug like Coulter would know you need to have a tissue match for a transplant to work.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ said Slater. ‘It’s a stupid idea.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. It’s certainly a bit of an obscure idea, but it wouldn’t do any harm to find the kid and see what’s really wrong with him. If nothing else, it mi
ght tell us a bit more about what Coulter’s up to.’
‘And that might enable us to rule Coulter in or out as a suspect,’ added Slater. ‘It’s going to be very time-consuming, though. There are private hospitals and nursing homes all over the shop.’
‘Yeah,’ said Norman. ‘That’s true, but if there was someone who knew how to do this stuff, and was willing . . .’
Slater looked at him, suspiciously. ‘Why do I get the feeling you already have someone in mind?’
Norman looked sheepish. ‘It’s just an idea. It would help us, and I think it would help this person if they had something constructive to do.’
‘Are you going to tell me who this person is? Do I get to meet them first?’
Norman looked uncomfortable.
‘What aren’t you telling me, Norm?’
‘I can promise you, you will not have a problem with this person,’ he assured Slater.
‘So do I know them? What’s their name? Why is it a big secret?’
‘Please, you have to trust my judgement on this,’ said Norman. ‘Let me go and ask this afternoon. Maybe I’m wrong and they won’t want to know. But I think I’m right, and if I handle it right . . .’
Slater sat back in his seat and studied Norman. He was definitely up to something. Why wasn’t he telling? Then he remembered he wasn’t exactly telling Norman everything right now, was he?
‘Okay,’ he said, finally. ‘Of course I trust your judgement. Just don’t keep it a secret for too long, right? We are supposed to be partners.’
‘I’ve been going to tell you, but I want to make sure I was right and that this other person was okay with it,’ said Norman, looking much happier now. ‘I’ll go now. The sooner we get started, the better.’ He stood, ready to go.
‘That’s okay,’ said Slater, looking up at him. ‘We don’t have to share everything all the time. You tell me when you’re ready.’
He reached for what was left of his drink and began to raise it from the table.
‘That sounds fair enough.’ Norman took a step towards the door and patted Slater’s shoulder as he passed. ‘And you can tell me about you and Goodnews when you’re ready.’