The Kidney Donor (Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 8)

by P. F. Ford

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Norman, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Was that question too difficult?’

  ‘Err, well, no, of course not,’ began Slater, but the sentence fizzled out because he didn’t really know how to finish it.

  There was an awkward silence which was eventually broken by Norman.

  ‘I don’t want to piss you off, but can I speak frankly?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I may be wrong,’ said Norman, carefully, ‘and, let’s be honest, I’m not really in any position to offer relationship advice–’

  ‘You’re my mate,’ said Slater, interrupting him. ‘That’s good enough for you to have an opinion, but will you stop beating about the bush and get to the point.’

  Norman sighed. ‘Okay, it’s been obvious to everyone since the day Goodnews arrived on the scene that there is a very powerful sexual attraction between the two of you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Slater, grumpily, ‘so you’ve said before. I think it’s bollocks myself.’

  ‘I should point out I’m not the only person who thinks this. When I say it’s been obvious to everyone, I mean everyone.’

  ‘Is there a point to this?’

  ‘Now don’t start getting shitty.’ Norman waggled a finger at Slater. ‘You agreed I could speak frankly.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Slater, guiltily. ‘You’re right, I did. So speak frankly.’

  ‘What I’m trying to say is it seems to me you two have finally got to the point where your physical attraction to each other has been fulfilled, right?’

  Slater went to open his mouth, but Norman beat him to it.

  ‘It’s okay, I don’t need to hear any gory details. Your face is telling me I’m right. My point is this: if there’s nothing more to this relationship than lust, it won’t last, and you know it won’t.’

  ‘What makes you say it won’t last?’ asked Slater as he slowed the car and pulled up outside the pub.

  ‘When I asked you if she made you happy, you couldn’t answer,’ said Norman, unbuckling his seat belt and reaching for the door handle. ‘Now, if this was the real deal and, say, you were in love with her, you’d be floating on cloud nine. You’d be so happy you’d be shouting from the rooftops, and yet you’re not even sure how you feel.’

  He opened the door, climbed out, then turned and looked at Slater.

  ‘So what do I do?’ asked Slater.

  ‘That’s for you to decide,’ said Norman, ‘but I suggest you think about what you really want. Meanwhile, I’ll catch up with you in the morning after I’ve been to see Jane.’

  He swung the car door shut, turned on his heel, and walked around the pub to the back door. Slater sat in the car and watched him until he turned the corner and was out of sight, then he slowly headed off homewards.

  As he drove, he thought about what Norman had said, and about Marion Goodnews. He thought about their relationship. Was it really all about lust, or was there more to it than that? If he was honest about it, he knew Norman was right about one thing – he had fancied the pants off her from day one. Having said that, she had been the one who had manoeuvred them into a sexual relationship. So what did that mean? Was he being used? Or was he using her? Did it matter? After all, they were both consenting adults weren’t they? But it was the next thought that stayed with him longest. If it was all about sex, was that really what he wanted?

  He suddenly realised he had arrived outside his own house and slipped the car into his parking space.

  As he pulled the handbrake on and switched the engine off, he glanced towards his house. He was just in time to see a shadowy figure rush away from his front door. He flung his car door open to give chase, but the figure had a head start and was off like a shot, tearing across the front lawns of the other houses. By the time Slater turned the first corner, the person he had been chasing was nowhere to be seen.

  He stopped and looked around. There were plenty of hiding places here, assuming whoever it was hadn’t just kept on running. He would need help to search the area, and previously he would have been able to make a call and ask for backup, but, of course, backup was a luxury he could no longer call upon. He swore quietly to himself and headed back to his house.

  As he walked back, he thought about the fleeing figure he had seen and tried to recall as much detail as he could. He hadn’t been able to see too much in the dim light, but whoever it was had been small and slim, and as fast as a whippet. He couldn’t be certain, but he was pretty sure it had been a woman and not a man. Hopefully he had disturbed her before she had managed to break in or do any damage.

  A quick survey of his front door revealed nothing untoward, so he unlocked it, pushed it open, and switched on a light for a better view. There was no damage that he could see. It was only when he was on the inside, pushing the door closed, that he noticed a scruffy piece of paper hanging from his letterbox. Just a tiny corner had become caught in the flap, but it was enough to keep it from falling to the floor. He carefully prised the flap of the letterbox open, removed the piece of paper, and unfolded it. A note had been written on it in neat, round, yet slightly wobbly handwriting.

  Ryan will be at the bakery around 6 a.m. You need to speak to him before he does something stupid.

  He was sure he would have noticed the note if it had been there earlier, so he assumed this must have been the reason for the visitor he had disturbed, but if they were just delivering a note, why run away? Why not just tell him? He assumed it must have been one of the homeless community; when he thought about it, he realised he wasn’t fully trusted yet, so not wanting to speak seemed to make sense.

  He thought of Ginger. She was supposedly hiding Ryan, so she would know of his movements and his intentions. But how would she know where he lived? Norm made no secret of the fact he lived in a pub in town, but Slater was sure he hadn’t mentioned where he lived to anyone. In any case, wasn’t Norman’s place in town easier to get to? So why not leave the note there? It would surely be a lot more convenient than coming all the way out here.

  He continued to puzzle over the who and the why as he dialled Norman’s number and told him what had been waiting for him at home. They decided it would be risky if Slater went alone as Ryan hardly knew him and was unlikely to want to talk to him. It would be much better if they were both there. Slater could leave his car at the pub and they could make the short walk to the bakery from there.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘So tell me again why I thought I needed to get up at this ungodly hour,’ said Norman, grumpily.

  ‘Because Ryan is unlikely to speak to me on my own,’ said Slater, ‘and if it’s any consolation, I had to get up even earlier.’

  They were making the short walk to the bakery, but they had decided to go the long way round so they wouldn’t be spotted marching the length of the High Street.

  ‘I hope you didn’t have to disturb anyone in the process,’ said Norman.

  Slater glared at him sharply. ‘Can we not do this now? Shouldn’t we be focused on finding Ryan and learning what he knows?’

  Norman held up his hands in surrender. ‘I’m sorry. That was a cheap shot, and I apologise for speaking without thinking.’

  Slater grunted in acceptance of the apology.

  ‘So tell me again what happened when you got home last night.’

  ‘I disturbed someone at my front door. I gave chase but she had too much of a start. I lost her almost straight away. When I got indoors, this note was caught in the letterbox.’

  He handed Norman a thin, clear plastic bag. The note was inside.

  ‘You seem very sure it was a “she” you were chasing and not a “he”,’ Norman remarked as he studied the note under a street lamp.

  ‘She ran like a girl,’ said Slater, ‘and she was built like a girl. She was skinny, and probably undernourished, but definitely a girl. And the clothes were definitely those of someone down on their luck, you know what I mean?’

  ‘You think she wrote this note, too?�
��

  ‘I’m no expert, but I’d say that was a girl’s handwriting, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Norman. ‘It has that sort of careful roundness to it that a lot of girls have, but it’s managing to be a bit erratic at the same time. Does that bring anyone to mind?’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ said Slater.

  ‘You don’t really know Ginger, do you?’

  Slater thought that actually he was sure he did know Ginger, but he still hadn’t figured out where from, so he kept that to himself for now.

  ‘She’s never actually spoken to me,’ he admitted, ‘and she seems to keep her face turned away from me all the time.’

  ‘Yeah, she is pretty evasive,’ said Norman, ‘and secretive. She doesn’t really speak to anyone, but from what I’ve been told by some of the others, she’s like that handwriting – well-rounded, yet somehow erratic at the same time.’

  ‘She was the person I thought most likely to have pushed the note through my door,’ said Slater, ‘if only because she’s hiding Ryan, so she would be likely to know what his plans are.’

  ‘I think you’re probably right about that,’ agreed Norman. ‘I wonder what she means when she says he might do something stupid.’

  ‘D’you think he’s likely to do a runner when he sees us? Only I don’t fancy giving chase this morning.’

  ‘I’m hoping I can play it right and he won’t do that. To be honest, we can’t stop him if he does decide to go. I just hope he’ll talk to us first.’

  ‘How much are you going to tell him?’

  ‘As little as possible,’ said Norman. ‘I’m not sure how paranoid he is, and I don’t want to be stoking it up. I’ll tell him we’re after Stan Coulter and anything he can tell us about his son Bobby might help. We’ll leave it at that and see what he’s prepared to say. I can always add a bit more if it’s needed.’

  They walked a bit further, in silence, before Slater spoke.

  ‘About Ginger,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I know her from somewhere, but I can’t figure out where. I was thinking about asking her next time I see her. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you should be careful you don’t scare her away,’ warned Norman. ‘The best policy with these people is to be friendly but don’t be pushy. You start asking questions they’re likely to clam up and tell you nothing, but if you take your time and let them come to you, you’ll find they’ll open up, but only when they’re good and ready. So, unless you’re in a hurry, I should wait and see.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Slater. ‘You’re probably right.’

  The bakery was just around the next corner, about thirty yards along the street. They turned the corner and stopped. In the light seeping through the windows from the inside of the shop, they could see half a dozen people huddled together against the early morning chill. Ryan was one of them.

  ‘Let’s wait back here,’ said Norman, quietly. ‘Let him get his food, and we’ll catch him on the way back.’

  From their vantage point they watched the half dozen suddenly turn and step towards the shop door. Someone must be opening up. Slater and Norman waited patiently as each person came away from the shop clutching a bag in one hand and a cup of hot coffee in the other. The bags were filled with a hot pasty, a couple of filled rolls, and maybe a cake or two. The last one to leave was Ryan.

  As he stepped from the shop doorway and turned towards them, Norman stepped forward. Ryan stopped dead in his tracks. He was about ten yards from them.

  ‘Ryan, it’s me. You know I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk. There are things you know that we need to know. Just give us ten minutes and you can be on your way.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’ asked Ryan, looking poised for either flight or fight.

  Slater hoped he wasn’t going to run because he didn’t fancy his chances of catching the other man in a race. Then again, he certainly didn’t want to get into a fight against someone with Ryan’s background. He might be homeless, but he still looked pretty fit from where Slater was standing, and there seemed little doubt he could easily outrun him and/or beat the crap out of him, depending on whichever alternative took his fancy.

  Getting a good hiding wasn’t something Slater relished at any time of the day, and it was a particularly unattractive proposition at this time of the morning. And, of course, there was no point in relying on Norman to help. In his own words he “didn’t do running” and hadn’t done for many years. It was the big disadvantage of having him as a partner, and Slater knew from experience that all Norman was likely to do was sit back and watch should it come to a chase. He realised Norman was speaking to Ryan again.

  ‘We’re investigating a guy who had a son out in Afghanistan at about the time you were out there. We think you might have known him. We’d appreciate some background about that son if you know anything.’

  ‘Who was he?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘Bobby Coulter. Ring any bells?’

  The change in Ryan’s face was only momentary, but they both saw it. There was no doubt Ryan knew, or rather he had known, Bobby Coulter. His stance had changed now and he was no longer poised for action. Slater breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

  ‘Yeah, I knew him. Bobby, me, and Morgan. We were working together.’

  ‘We can’t talk out here,’ said Norman.

  ‘Let’s go to the Station Cafe,’ said Ryan. ‘It’s about the only place open this early. You can buy me breakfast.’

  ‘Crap,’ said Norman quietly to Slater, as he patted his pockets. ‘I didn’t bring any money. I don’t suppose you–’

  ‘Now there’s a surprise,’ said Slater, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting to eat breakfast as well.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ said Norman. ‘After all, it was your idea to drag me out of bed at this God-awful hour!’

  ‘Yeah, right, of course it’s all my fault,’ said Slater. ‘I suppose I’m doing all the driving today, too, am I?’

  Norman yawned expansively and grinned. ‘Well, now you come to mention it, I am a bit weary.’

  ‘Don’t push it, Norm, don’t push it.’

  ‘So that’s how you knew Bobby Coulter?’ asked Norman. ‘You served together?’

  They were sitting around a corner table of the station cafe eating their fried breakfasts. Ryan had insisted on sitting right in the corner with his back to the wall. He said it was his habit nowadays wherever he was – if anyone was after him he wanted to be able to see them coming. As if to confirm his paranoia, he had hardly taken his eyes from the door all the time they had been there.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Bobby and me, we were a team. We worked together, played together, and drank together. We were like brothers. I mean literally. We even had the same blood group and everything. If either of us were wounded, we were each other’s blood transfusion. We could have swapped organs, that’s how closely matched we were.’

  ‘What about Morgan? Where did he come into it?’ asked Norman.

  ‘We needed a three-man team for our last operation, so he was sent with us.’

  ‘What happened to Bobby?’

  ‘Sniper,’ said Ryan, sadly. ‘He must have been watching us from behind, about half a mile back, up in the hills. Blew Bobby’s bloody head clean off his shoulders. Death had never bothered me before that. I’ve killed plenty of people and seen plenty of dead bodies, but when it’s your best mate . . .’ His voice trailed away to silence and although he was still staring at the door, he was looking into the past. For a moment, Slater, who had elected to stay silent throughout, thought the super-tough Ryan was going to burst into tears.

  ‘Did Morgan blame himself for what happened?’ asked Norman.

  Ryan tore his eyes from the door and back into the present. He flashed a look at Norman. ‘What?’

  ‘Someone told us Morgan felt responsible for what happened.’

  ‘He bloody should have,’ said Ryan, angrily. ‘He was supposed to be watching our backs. We knew there
were likely to be snipers – that’s why we needed the third man. That’s all he had to do: watch out for snipers.’

  ‘Do you know why Morgan came here?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Yeah. He was looking for me.’ Ryan’s gaze returned to the door.

  ‘Why? Why was he looking for you?’

  ‘Because he was in some sort of trouble, and he thought I would help him out.’

  ‘What trouble was he in?’

  ‘I dunno, we never got that far. I knew he’d had some sort of operation and he was in a bad way. I was going to get an ambulance out to him next day, but someone beat me to it and turned him into a crispy cracker.’

  His face split into a slightly disturbing, crazy grin, and Slater winced as he wondered just how damaged inside Ryan really was.

  ‘So what can you tell us about Bobby?’ asked Norman.

  ‘He was a good bloke. One of the best I ever knew.’

  ‘Did you ever meet his family?’

  ‘No way,’ said Ryan. ‘He wouldn’t even discuss them with anyone, except once when we got pinned down by the enemy and we thought we were going to die. There was just the two of us. He told me he was ashamed of his family. He told me they were gangsters. Any other time I might have thought he was joking, but this was like confessional time, you know? He said he’d left home at sixteen, joined the army, and never been back in almost twenty years. You’d have to be seriously hacked off with them to stay away that long, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘So you don’t know anything about the rest of his family?’

  ‘All I know is he’s got two brothers. The older one’s a chip off the old block, part of the gang, you know? Then there’s a younger brother. Bobby was hoping he was going to turn out to be a good ’un, but he thought it was probably wishful thinking on his part.’