by P. F. Ford
‘Ah, shit,’ said Norman. ‘Not Ryan!’
‘So you do know this man?’
‘Quite good-looking, scruffy beard, short dark hair, brown eyes, wearing blue jeans and a combat jacket?’ asked Norman.
‘Yeah, that sounds like him. Mind if I ask how you know him?’
Norman sighed – a big, weary sigh. ‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘This is a crime scene,’ said Biddeford. ‘I can’t let you near–’
‘I don’t think you need to tell me the law,’ said Norman, patiently. ‘I’m not asking you to let me examine the scene. If you let me come down and identify the body, I’ll answer your questions.’
‘I dunno,’ said Biddeford, doubtfully.
‘Okay, suit yourself,’ said Norman, abruptly. ‘You’ll just have to come and find me if you want to talk to me.’
‘No, wait!’ said Biddeford. ‘Alright, you can come over. We’re on the bypass, in the lay-by–’
‘Where you found the last homeless guy?’ guessed Norman.
‘Err, yeah,’ admitted Biddeford, reluctantly.
‘We’ll be there in ten minutes.’
Norman ended the call, slumped back against the car, and looked up at the sky.
‘What is it?’ asked Slater. ‘I heard you say Ryan’s name. Have they arrested him?’
‘Worse,’ said Norman. ‘He’s become the latest corpse.’
‘Oh, no, not another one. Where this time?’
‘Same place they found Doddsy.’
‘Come on, let’s get out there and see what’s what,’ said Slater.
The lay-by was teaming with police and scene-of-crime vehicles when they arrived. Floodlights seemed to have been erected in every possible place. They had to park way past the scene and walk back. Then there was a heated discussion with a PC who, quite rightly, wasn’t prepared to let anyone onto the crime scene who didn’t have the proper ID. Norman’s insistence that DS Biddeford had requested his attendance made no difference.
‘I don’t care who you are. DS Biddeford hasn’t told me, and until he does, your name’s not on this list, so hard luck,’ was the response.
Finally, Norman’s persistence began to make an impression.
‘Why don’t I call him and ask him?’ said the PC, with a smug grin, clearly quite convinced he was going to have the satisfaction of telling Norman what he could do or, even better, arresting him for obstruction. He turned away from them and spoke into his radio. When he turned back, he didn’t seem quite so sure of himself.
‘He says you’ve got to wait here,’ he said, reluctantly. ‘Someone will be down in a couple of minutes.’
It wasn’t until Biddeford’s partner, DC Naomi Darling, finally arrived in person that he actually stood back and let them through. The pixie-like Darling, a mere slip of a girl not much more than five feet tall, had a big smile on her face when she saw them.
‘Wow! Real live humans,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting to come across any of those tonight. All I’ve seen so far is a dead body, a grumpy doctor, an arsehole of a DS, and a whole load of nob-head PCs.’
This remark, accompanied by a baleful glare, was directed at the scowling PC, who didn’t look too impressed that this young woman out-ranked him and was more than happy to glare back at her.
‘They’re still giving you hassle, then?’ asked Norman, as she led them away from the PC.
‘Bunch of wankers,’ she said. ‘They keep trying to make my life a misery, but so far I’ve managed to outwit them all. I suppose they don’t like the idea of a girl who can look after herself.’
Slater had worked with Darling briefly, and he knew she wasn’t someone to trifle with. She might be tiny, and weigh hardly anything, but there were two huge thugs who could testify to just how tough she was. Anyone trying to mess with her was asking for trouble. It wasn’t just her hair that was spiky.
‘DS Crabby Git says to meet him over there,’ said Darling quietly, pointing to one of the pop-up tents that had been hastily erected in the lay-by where they could see a figure waiting for them.
‘Where’s the body?’ asked Norman, when they reached Biddeford.
‘The doctor’s looking him over at the moment,’ he said, ‘but it looks like he’s been dead for hours, possibly even since yesterday. When did you last see him?’
‘We haven’t seen him for a couple of days,’ said Norman, ‘but we know he was alive early yesterday evening.’
‘At least now I suppose you’ll admit there’s something going on,’ said Slater. ‘This is the third homeless guy to die. Don’t you think that’s a bit of a coincidence?’
‘It’s not me you need to convince,’ Biddeford said. ‘I said after the second one it can’t be a coincidence, but I’ve been told I’m wrong. I reckon this time, though, she’s going to have to take notice. This one’s had his sleeves cut off, just like the last one.’
‘Jeez,’ said Norman. ‘That definitely can’t be a coincidence.’
Slater felt a stab of disappointment. He assumed when Biddeford said “she” he had to mean his boss, DCI Goodnews. He hoped he was wrong, but who else was there?
Biddeford had produced a clear plastic bag with one of Norman’s homemade business cards inside. He showed it to Norman.
‘We found this in his pocket. I don’t suppose you know what it means?’
‘Yeah,’ said Norman. ‘That’s our business card. I gave it to him.’
Biddeford looked quickly down at the business card, but he wasn’t quick enough to hide the smirk that crossed his face.
‘S & N Security and Investigations,’ he read from the card. He looked from Norman to Slater and back again. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Go ahead and laugh,’ said Norman. ‘We’ll see who’s laughing when we go to the press with the story of what’s really been going on here, and how the police don’t give a shit because the victims are all homeless.’
‘He who laughs last, laughs longest,’ said Slater. ‘Don’t forget that.’
‘Hey, look,’ said Biddeford. ‘Don’t blame me. I just do what the boss tells me.’
‘If you had any balls, you’d do what was right, regardless of what the boss says,’ said Slater.
Biddeford was easily riled by such a pointed remark, just as Slater had intended.
‘And I suppose you’d be happy to work behind her back and argue with her?’
‘If I thought I was right and a case was being dismissed without proper investigation, yes I would,’ said Slater.
Biddeford knew what Slater said was the truth, but before he could think of anything to say, a movement caught his eye. He looked over their shoulders, saw a figure approaching behind them and blanched.
‘Well, here you go,’ he said to Slater. ‘If you want to argue with her, be my guest. She’s just turned up.’
Slater whirled round. Sure enough, DCI Marion Goodnews was striding purposefully in their direction, and as she approached, he could feel his face turning red.
If she had seen Slater and Norman, Goodnews showed no sign of recognition as she walked up to Biddeford. She made a point of ignoring them and even made sure to turn her back on them before she addressed him.
‘Good evening, Sergeant, what have we got?’ she asked.
‘Evening, boss,’ said Biddeford, clearly self-conscious in front of Slater and Norman. ‘Body over the back there.’ He pointed beyond the trees that lined the back of the lay-by. ‘Male, in his late thirties. He’s been stabbed in the back. Apparently his name is Ryan, and he’s another one of Tinton’s homeless community.’
‘You’re sure he’s been stabbed?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘No way this could be an accident?’
Biddeford shook his head. ‘Not unless he stabbed himself in the back and then threw the knife away.’
‘Don’t try to be clever just because you have an audience,’ she warned him. She indicated Slater and Norman with her thumb. ‘What are these two doing out he
re anyway?’
‘Err, the dead man had this in his pocket,’ said Biddeford, passing her the card in the plastic bag.
She bent her head to look at the card. ‘S & N? Do we have any idea what that stands for?’
‘That’s our business card,’ said Slater, indignantly.
She wheeled round to face them. There was a smile fixed on her face, but it belied the fiery glow in her eyes. She looked at Slater as if he was something she wanted to wipe off her shoe. It was as much contempt as Slater had ever seen on a face.
‘Oh, I see,’ she sneered. ‘S & N, of course, Sloppy and Numpty.’
Despite her anger and scorn, Slater almost laughed at the insult, and he had to struggle to keep a straight face. He thought she really was very good when she got going, although he would have preferred it if she had been directing it at someone else.
‘What the hell are you doing on my crime scene?’ she demanded.
‘Actually, boss, I asked them to come,’ confessed Biddeford. ‘There was a mobile phone in the victim’s pocket, and Norman was the last person to call it. And then I found the card. I thought maybe they could help–’
She had turned back to face him as he started to speak, and now she interrupted him.
‘Yes, thank you, Sergeant. Next time you want to invite two non-police officers onto one of my crime scenes, perhaps you’ll be good enough to ask me first.’
Biddeford hung his head. ‘Yes, boss,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
‘Give the guy a break,’ said Norman. ‘He did the right thing calling that number. I offered to come and identify the body and help in any way I could. I wasn’t intending to poke around the crime scene.’
She aimed a scowl in his direction.
‘Well, in that case,’ she said, ‘you won’t be disappointed to know I’m not letting you anywhere near it, will you?’
‘It looks like they’re bringing the body out,’ said Darling, who had been a fascinated observer since Goodnews had arrived.
Goodnews turned to Norman. ‘Would you come with me? You can have a look at his face as they bring him out.’
‘Sure,’ said Norman, just about resisting the urge to say what he really thought.
Slater took a pace forward and she shot him a look that made him stop dead in his tracks. ‘Oh no,’ she warned him. ‘Not you. You can wait here. I’ll deal with you later.’
She called the PC who had been so happy to detain them earlier. ‘Make sure he stays right here,’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the PC, giving Slater an evil grin.
Now Goodnews turned her attention to Darling. ‘DC Darling,’ she said, ‘I’m sure you and Mr Slater must have lots to talk about, but don’t you have work to do?’
‘Err, yes, boss,’ she said.
‘Well then, go and do it!’
Slater watched Darling scurry reluctantly back in the direction of the crime scene, and then turned his gaze to follow his fiery-tempered girlfriend – no, he thought, make that ex-girlfriend – lead Norman and Biddeford over to intercept the gurney carrying the body.
‘I don’t know what you’ve done to piss her off,’ said the PC, quietly, ‘but whatever it is, I suggest you keep a tight hold of your balls, cos it looks as if she intends to have them for breakfast.’
‘You think?’ said Slater.
‘So what have you done?’
‘You really don’t want to know.’
‘Oh, I do,’ said the grinning PC, ‘and I promise I won’t tell a soul if you tell me.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Slater. ‘Like I’m that stupid.’
It was almost twenty minutes before Slater saw Goodnews heading back in his direction. There was a no sign of Norman or Biddeford. He guessed they had been sent off somewhere so Biddeford could take a statement.
‘Here we go,’ said the PC quietly, another evil grin creasing his face as she approached. ‘I’m going to enjoy this.’
‘Right, Constable, thank you,’ she said as she arrived. ‘You can go now.’
The disappointment could clearly be seen all over his face.
‘I know, it’s a shame, isn’t it?’ she said, ‘You were so looking forward to listening in, weren’t you?’
The PC tried to look innocent.
‘We both know I’m right,’ she said. ‘I heard you say so as I walked over, didn’t I?’
‘Err, well, what I actually said–’
‘I don’t care what you actually said,’ she snapped. ‘Just make yourself scarce. Now!’
The crestfallen PC wandered away. Goodnews waited until he was out of earshot, and then gave Slater an icy, humourless, smile.
‘Now then,’ she said. ‘While Mr Norman does his civic duty and gives DS Biddeford his statement about the dead man, you can give me your statement about what happened last night. And I don’t want any bullshit.’
Slater shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He wasn’t sure exactly how he should handle this situation. When the same sort of thing had happened with his former girlfriend, Cindy, he had avoided the issue by chickening out of going to see her. One thing was for sure: avoiding a showdown this time was no longer an option.
‘Well, say something, for God’s sake,’ she demanded.
‘To be honest, I don’t know where to start, and I don’t think you’ll believe me anyway,’ he said, lamely.
‘Well, I suggest you try me,’ she said, ‘because right now, I’ve only got my side of the story to go on, and it doesn’t look very good.’
‘Look, I’m really sorry I stood you up, but you know what it’s like. Something came up and I had to rush off.’
‘Something came up,’ she repeated. ‘That something wouldn’t have anything to do with the girl in your house, would it?’
‘It was nothing to do with her. I had to go out.’
‘And you didn’t think to call me?’
‘I’ve said I’m sorry,’ he argued. ‘How more many times do you want me to say it?’
Slater realised anyone watching would easily be able to see what was going on, with her arms waving around animatedly and his arms folded in self-defence. It was rather like being back at school getting a bollocking from the headmistress, and frankly he had just about had enough of being made to feel like that this week.
‘We had arranged a date–’ began Goodnews.
‘No, actually,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll find you had arranged a date. You didn’t ask me, you told me.’
‘I don’t recall hearing you refuse.’
‘I don’t recall being offered the bloody chance.’
‘Don’t you swear at me,’ she snapped, indignantly.
‘Ha! That sounds good after some of the names you called me down the phone,’ he countered.
‘So, who is this girl?’
Slater sighed. This was going to be the really tricky bit. ‘She’s an old friend who needed somewhere to sleep for the night,’ he said.
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’
‘It was all a bit last minute. She’s alone, and she’s frightened, that’s why she wouldn’t answer the door. I wasn’t even at home when you came round.’
‘So where were you?’
‘I told you, I was with Norm. You see, it doesn’t matter what I tell you, you just don’t listen!’
‘Oh great! So you’d rather be out with your numpty mate than wait in for me? My my, don’t you know how to make a girl feel good?’
Slater didn’t say anything. He was in a dilemma. Okay, he had committed the cardinal sin of forgetting she was coming round, but as far as he was concerned, apart from that, he had done nothing wrong, and he resented having to justify himself to her.
Of course, he could explain it all away quite easily, but that would mean telling her all about the case, and what was really stopping him from telling her about that was the information, gleaned from Darling’s comments not half an hour ago, that Goodnews was directing the police investigation. Or perhaps non-investigation
would be more appropriate. She really was the one who was telling them to stay away. Biddeford was merely a mouthpiece.
And then he realised something that probably told him all he needed to know. If it had really mattered to him, would he have forgotten she was coming round that night?
His thoughts were interrupted as he realised she was speaking again.
‘I feel totally let down by you. Why didn’t you call me and tell me what was going on?’
‘But that’s just it, Marion. It’s all about you and your precious career, isn’t it?’
‘How do you work that one out? I listened to your problems the other night, didn’t I?’
‘Well, yeah,’ he admitted, ‘but only because I brought the subject up. You haven’t asked me anything without prompting.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, like what I’m going to do for a job.’
‘I’ve just found that out, haven’t I?’ she said, derisively, ‘Sloppy and Numpty, private investigators.’
‘Yeah, go on,’ he said. ‘Let’s hear all the scornful remarks now and get it over with. You would have known about it a damned sight sooner if only you had thought to ask.’
‘But you don’t ask me about my day,’ she said.
‘Yes, I do, or at least I did, but once I realised you were never going to tell me anything, I thought what’s the point? Whenever I ask, all you ever say is it’s police business and you can’t discuss it with me.’
‘But I can’t!’
‘Of course you bloody can! I’ve dealt with police business half my life. Why would I suddenly start telling everyone about it now? Christ, if you can’t trust me to keep my mouth shut, who can you trust?’
‘I don’t trust anyone,’ she said. ‘I can’t afford to.’
‘Well, there you go. You finally reveal the root cause of this whole problem. You don’t trust me.’ He shook his head. ‘Dear, oh dear, oh dear. If you can’t trust me, Marion, we have no future as a couple. In fact, if you can’t trust anyone you’ll never have a normal relationship.’
This appeared to be a truth that stung her when he said it, and her face quickly reddened. Suddenly she was the one struggling to know what to say.